


On the off chance

by dailandin



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adorable kittens, Epic cockblocking courtesy of Seraphina and the Goldsteins, Grand Romantic Gestures, M/M, Oblivious (or is it?) Credence, Pining Percival Graves, Rom-Com!Au, Seraphina Is So Done, Wizard!Credence, office gossip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailandin/pseuds/dailandin
Summary: AU where MACUSA are not fucking incompetent and they manage to rescue Credence from Mary Lou when he is still a kid.Credence Barebone is President Picquery's new Personal Assistant, Percival Graves is completely smitten, and Seraphina Picquery would just like everyone to keep things professional, please and thank you.





	1. About an infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the crackiest, most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Its only aim is to be a rom-com style story, where fun times are had by all, and happpy endings abound.
> 
> (Someday, I'll write a fic that properly explores some of the massive canon "gaps" in the HP!verse. Today is not that day)

Credence Barebone had originally been Percival’s case, although he barely even remembers it now. He had done all the research and investigation work, hours and hours of it, standing alone in a cold alley behind the Second Salemers’ Church, freezing his ass off, until Director Gunter had handed it over to Seraphina on the final leg. Said she had a better temperament for it.

Any slight Percival may have felt  was quickly forgotten the moment his new assignment had come in. Raiding illegal Goblin bars was, after all, far more exciting than retrieving magic kids from abusive households.

He has a blurry memory of Seraphina talking about the boy, weeks after, during their regular Friday night get together at the _Sparkling Pixie_ bar. Still, it is not much to go on either. He had been more than a bit drunk, and Sophie Clearwater’s shapely legs had been way more interesting than Seraphina’s impassioned rant against the restrictions and constraints of the Statute of Secrecy and Rappaport’s Law.

To be fair, the only reason he remembers it at all is the fact that it was the case that made Seraphina decide to go into politics, leaving the path to promotion, and later on, Directorship, wide open for him.

***

The first time Percival notices Credence Barebone, properly notices him, that is, more than a decade and a half has gone by. Percival has been Director of Magical Security for longer than he ever was an auror, Seraphina is the newly appointed President of MACUSA, and they are sitting in her office.

It is not really a formal meeting. Seraphina just needed to have a good rant about some of the most conservative and recalcitrant members of Congress, and Percival had been more than willing to offer a friendly ear. Things have been dreadfully quiet in Magical Security as of late, and any distraction that takes him away from the seemingly never-ending mountains of paperwork accumulating on his desk is a welcome one. It does help that Seraphina maintains the most well stashed alcohol cabinet in the whole of Woolworth, and she is never stringy with the drinks.

At first, he does not notice him. Seraphina has trained her team of Personal Assistants to be both extremely discreet and scarily efficient, and most of the time Percival barely notices them milling around her office in dark, severe suits, moving so quietly they barely even make a sound. So it is a happy casualty, more than anything else, that makes him raise his eyes from his drink at just the right time to spot the young man discreetly placing several folders upon Seraphina’s desk, a neatly clad note attached to each one summarising the main details of its contents.

He is new, is Percival’s first thought, and young. He knows all of Seraphina’s Personal Assistants, has to deal with most of them on a weekly basis, to their mutual charging, and he is quite sure he would have never been able to let such a striking face pass him by. A square, defined jaw, punctuated by high, sharp cheekbones and elegantly slanted eyes, all accompanied by an aristocratic nose and plush, pink lips, tempting enough to drive the most puritan mind to distraction. His suit is poorly made, clearly worn from multiple uses, although obviously well cleaned and maintained to the best of the owner’s ability, same as his hair, dark, thick tresses, neatly combed back and tied at the nape with a plain, threadbare, velvet bow.

It may be that Percival has spent way too long with only his right hand to keep him company at night, after the catastrophic disaster that was his last half-assed attempt at a relationship, but he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away, desire twisting in his gut in a way that has not happened since, at least, the Great War. His eyes traces the delicate bent of the man’s hands as he carefully arranges each folder on the desk, long fingers lightly caressing the edges to make sure they are all properly aligned. Percival’s mouth goes dry at the sight, and it has definitely been too long if he is getting excited at the way someone handles office stationery.

“That will be all, Credence” Seraphina says, voice more dry and cutting than may be necessary.

Both Percival and the young man – Credence, and why does the name seem so familiar? – startle at her tone, clearly caught by surprise. Credence, Percival notices, also blushes beautifully, a rosy tint across the bridge of his nose that nicely compliments his newly deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. He really is a most charming young man.

“Of course, Madame President” he says. His voice is soft, calm and paused, the very epitome of deferential politeness. He barely glances up at Seraphina from beneath lowered lashes, before he sketches a quick bow and, with a quick, furtive look at Percival, hastily leaves the room.

Percival turns to watch him go, not even attempting a bit of discretion for Seraphina’s sake, and almost lets a sigh escape his lips at view of those long, shapely legs and round ass, purposefully striding away. Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go, he muses to himself.

“Percival, no” he hears Seraphina say behind him, the moment the door closes behind Credence’s back.

“Beg your pardon?” he asks, turning around in his seat to face her, and putting on his best innocent face. Many a stern teacher and governess has fallen for that face, their eyes going soft and lips spreading into an indulging smile as they let Percival off the hook with almost no fussing. Unfortunately, Seraphina knows him better and counters his look with her most dry and forbidding stare.

“No” she repeats, pursing her lips in irritation and leaning over here desk to properly convey the level of her resolution “I said ‘No’. Don’t you even think about it”

He attempts a confused blink, smiling in polite confusion, and internally enjoying the way Seraphina’s nostrils flare in irritation. His morning is proving to be much more entertaining than he had expected when he first walked in and was greeted by twin, monstrous piles of paperwork.

“Don’t play the clueless innocent, Percival” Seraphina scolds him “that act got old before we even left Ilvermorny, and you are over two decades on the wrong side of that now, it’s unbecoming, really”

Trust Seraphina to take aim at his most sensitive spot and land a full hit with almost no effort. Percival nods his head in deference of her skill, as he does his best to prevent his smile from becoming too strained around the edges. Two can play this game.

“Feeling a bit possessive, aren’t we, Seraphina?” he teases her, reclining back into his seat and steepling his fingers together in front of his face “You should have just said so. I would never get in your way, you know that”

“You- Ugh, I’m not sleeping with Credence, you brute” she snaps, looking incredibly affronted. Percival does not know why, he would totally high five her if she were tapping that ass, Merlin knows at their age and rank it is not exactly easy to find new romantic partners “Nor do I want to”

“Oh, so he’s single, then?” Percival asks, unsubtly trying to fish for information.

“You’re unbelievable” Seraphina says, sounding increasingly exasperated.

“But is he?” Percival presses on “Come on, Sera, throw a man a bone”

“I’m not helping you seduce my new Personal Assistant” she resolutely declares “Credence is a most qualified and promising young man, and I would be absolutely loathe to lose his services because you cannot keep it in your pants”

“That happened _once_ ” Percival bites out, and it is completely unfair of Seraphina to bring it up, considering most of the fault for that monumental fall out rested with her Assistant instead of Percival himself.

“And if I have my way it won’t happen again” Seraphina snaps in return. She had not even liked Romilda that much, she just hates dealing with Human Resources to get new people “Why don’t you go and bugger your own PA?”

“That would be grossly unprofessional”

“Fine! Go bugger someone else’s then. McGregor hired a new Secretary last week, has half the Treasury Department gagging like dogs in heat, from what I’ve heard”

“And is as bland and boring as a white sheet of paper, I’m sure” Percival tiredly repeats. McGregor has an uncanny skill for finding the most dazzlingly beautiful, and staggeringly stupid, secretaries in the whole of MACUSA, to the point that his office seems to be running its own, private version of MACUSA’s Next Top Model. Seraphina, on the other hand, has a knack for hiring the exact type of efficient, intelligent and beautiful people that make Percival go weak at the knees.

“Whatever, Credence is still off-limits” Seraphina says, eyes blazing, as she stares Percival down “I’m serious Percival. This boy has been through some bad shit, he doesn’t need to deal with your terrible pickup lines on top of it”

As tempted as Percival is to defend the premium, gold-standard quality of his pickup lines, he recognises a warning when he hears it, and resignedly nods his head to signify his understanding. As enticingly attractive as Credence seems to be, he is not worth starting a feud with Seraphina over it. Percival will keep is distance, and content himself with admiring the man from afar.

***

He catches small glimpses of Credence through MACUSA on the following weeks, most of the time trailing after Seraphina like an eager, awkwardly overgrown, puppy, or sitting at Congress meetings, sandwiched between Gonzales and Smithson, as they all furiously take notes and shuffle around relevant documents that may be relevant to support Seraphina’s argument. Percival can readily admit that he cannot remember a single word spoken during those meetings, his attention completely captured by the way a stray strand of hair fell across Credence’s forehead, or how he bit his lips in frustration whenever some obnoxious Congressman made any untoward comments towards Seraphina. Congress had never been so entertaining.

It still remains, for the most part, an innocent infatuation. And, sure, Percival may play it up a little bit sometimes, just to see the way Seraphina grinds her teeth in frustration, but that is just par of the course. He has been teasing her since they were spot-faced teenagers, and Credence is just another button to press and test her patience.

***

The first thing that surprises him as he exits the elevator is the sound of Tina Goldstein’s laughter, clear and loud over the usual cacophony of sound of the Major Investigations office. It is not that he has never heard Tina laugh before, he can recall at least two or three occasions, but more the fact that this is not her usual timid and self-conscious half-chuckle, hidden behind a hand and a turned head. She is a lovely girl, and one of Percival’s most promising Aurors, but she still has not completely managed to shed the strict protocols and ‘Yessirs’ from the Academy, and still ends up acting like she has a rod stuck up her behind every time Percival is in the room.

It takes him a few moments to realise Tina is not alone in her amusement. Another deeper, softer laughter accompanying her own. It is not a voice he recognises, and he hurries his steps, curious to see who it belongs to. If Tina has brought her boyfriend into the office Percival ought to at least put in one terrifying and threatening appearance, as is his due as her superior officer. Having no children of his own, most of his paternal instincts seem to have, instead, been refocused on looking after his Aurors, and terrorising potential suitors remains one of the best perks of the role.

When he turns the corner and takes his first glance at Tina’s supposed new boyfriend, his stomach drops to his feet. For there is Credence, calmly sat on top of Tina’s desk, casual as you please, laughing in abandon as she tells him about the Gigglewater Traffic Case in entertaining detail. Now, Percival knows it is petty, not to mention quite undignified, to be jealous of his own protegée for managing to score the same man he has been silently lusting after for the last month and a half. Theoretically, he knows that. In practice… In practice it is quite a whole other story.

“Tina” he salutes her, using his most severe and authoritative tone.

The effect is immediate. Laughter ceases in an instant, as Tina glances up surprised, then guiltily, at him. On her desk, Credence also goes silent, lowering his gaze, and promptly standing up, hands demurely clasped behind his back, like a naughty school boy who has been caught speaking in class. Their joint chastised appearance is enough to appease some of the baseless jealousy churning in his gut.

“Mr. Graves, good morning, sir” Tina salutes him “Did you have any questions on my report of the Gnarlak case?” Her face is an open book, as always, screaming for his recognition and approval. Petty jealousy battles briefly with his misplaced paternal instincts for a moment, with the latter winning out easily when Tina’s brow creases in anxious concern.

“None at all, Tina, it was an excellent job” he says, smiling to himself when she visibly puffs up full of pride. Oh, how he wishes all his Aurors were as dutiful and easily impressed by him as Tina. Most of his more Senior officers have long since grown comfortable enough with him to openly challenge his authority whenever they feel the occasion calls for it, and some, like that Italian punk Schiavone, see his authority more as something to circumvent, rather than defer to, much to Percival’s increased frustration.

“I had an excellent teacher, sir” Tina graciously responds, because she never misses the chance to butter him up, all in the hopes of being assigned to some of the more complex cases.

(Which is not gonna happen anytime soon, Percival is too fond of Tina and her earnest innocence to put her anywhere near the Grindelwald Task Force.

He would not wish the Task Force on any of his Aurors.

Ok, maybe on Schiavone. The prick.)

“And who is your friend?” Percival says, in an abrupt, and none to gracious, change of conversation that he will blame on the utterly distracting temptation that is Credence biting his lower lip in nervousness.

“Oh, sorry, sir!” Tina apologises, flustered “Where are my manners, Mr. Graves, this is Credence Barebone, he works as a Personal Assistant for President Picquery”

The name Barebone does definitely ring a bell, and the pieces of the puzzle finally click within Percival’s head. Credence Barebone, the Second Salemers’ child whose case was the small ember that kickstarted Seraphina’s political career. That certainly explains her protectiveness.

“Mr. Barebone” Percival greets him, extending his hand for a friendly shake. Credence’s grip is firm, without being too strong, hands cold despite the warm temperature of the whole building “I think I can recall having seen you around with Seraphina a few times. Pleasure to properly make your acquaintance” he says, affecting an appearance of suave casualness he definitely does not feel.

“Pleasure is all mine, Mr. Graves” Credence earnestly replies. He really sounds like he means it as well, face flushed slightly, as if in embarrassment, and eyes wide and honest. The whole thing does wonders for Percival’s ego.

“Credence was in the same year as Queenie in Ilvermorny” Tina explains, looking more relaxed now that proper introductions have been made and Percival shows no signs of threatening Credence with bodily harm to defend her virtue “He used to spend a few weeks every Summer at ours before- well, before” she adds face clouding slightly at the bitter reminder of the death of her parents.

“He is a family friend, I take” Percival comments, trying to steer the conversation away from any painful topics and ascertain Credence’s relationship status in equal measure.

“Yes” Tina confirms, obviously glad for the distraction “I hadn’t had the chance to catch up with him since he started working for the President, so I got a bit carried away, sorry, sir. I was just tired of getting all the updates second-hand from Queenie” she adds, throwing a teasing smile at Credence at the last bit. He shrugs in response, noncommittal.

“You’re close with the younger Miss Goldstein, then” Percival says, trying to sound as casual and uninterested in the response as possible. He is not entirely sure he succeeds, if the suspicious look Tina throws his way is any indication. He knew all those years of avoiding the watercooler gossip talks like the Plague would come back  to bite him in the ass. Show interest in an employee’s private life and become suspect number one.

“Queenie has been my best friend since Ilvermorny” Credence says, thankfully oblivious to Percival’s unsubtle prying “Although I don’t have much time to catch up with her either, I think she just picks the updates from my mind when she serves tea and coffee in Madame President’s office”

Ah, yes, Seraphina’s subtle, yet elegant, strategy of having Queenie Goldstein scan visitors’ minds for plots and ill intent under the guise of serving drinks. The whole setup is nothing short of genius, and Percival can only kick himself for not having thought to use Tina’s sisterly influence to secure the younger Goldstein for MLE before Seraphina got wind of her talents.

“Miss Goldstein probably picks the best updates from us all” Percival says, smiling charmingly at Credence.

He gets a shy laugh in response, as Credence shakes his head, amused at his friend’s antics “That she does, sir” he says, at the same time Tina indignantly exclaims “Queenie would never!”

Percival merely raises a quizzical eyebrow at her, because more than one of Tina’s investigation’s has been solved using information from an ‘undisclosed source’ that could only be Queenie Goldstein, even if everyone in MLE politely pretends they do not know that.

“Anyway, I must check something with Anya” he says, turning away from a blushing Tina “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barebone, I look forward to working with you in the future for our dear President’s benefit”

“As do I, Mr. Graves” Credence says, looking delightedly flustered and, maybe, just a bit short of breath (although that last bit may just be Percival’s overactive imagination)

He nods at both of them one last time, before purposefully striding away, making sure to keep his back straight and steps long, plenty aware of how well today’s chosen suit accentuates his best assets. He can feel their eyes on him, as well as the unmistakably vague murmur of whispering, and he lets a satisfied smirk spread across his face.

***

“Did you flirt with Credence out there, sir?” Tina asks him, point blank, later on the day when he calls her into his office to review next steps on the Gnarlak traffic ring.

The question catches him by surprise, and he pauses for a brief moment in his signing of Authorisation Forms, before he replies.

“Tina, please,” he says, going for a chastising tone to properly emphasise the ridiculousness of her assumption “Do I seem like the type of man to just flirt with random people in the middle of the office?”

“No, sir” she promptly replies, ducking her head in deference. A few moments pass, and Percival relaxes again, reassured in his regained authority, when Tina speaks up again “But, did you?”

His pen slips and ends up gouging a massive hole in the paper. Percival glares at it in offence as Tina politely clears her throat and fidgets awkwardly in her seat.

“I- I’m just saying, sir” she stammers out, because even if she is finding her own feet and openly challenging him for the first time, she is still _Tina_ , and politeness and respect are hardcoded into her very being “You never are that open with guests. And you smiled at him”

“I was being polite” Percival complains, the excuse sounding weak even to his own ears. He is not used to being questioned on his private life by anyone other than Seraphina, who already knows all his low points even better than he remembers them himself (due, in quite a few cases, to the large amounts of alcohol involved).

“Mr. Schiavone brought his girlfriend in last week and you barely even grunted ‘Hello’ at her” Tina comments, a hint of a smile insinuating itself at the corner of her lips.

“I try to keep my interactions with Schiavone and all his associates to a minimum” he flippantly replies, shuffling around some paperwork, and hoping Tina gets the hint and drops the subject.

No such luck.

“Well, it did sound like flirting” Tina mulishly replies.

“Well, Tina, it was not!” Percival snaps, flustered. He can feel a blush climbing up the back of his neck to the tip of his ears, a damning tell-tale sign he blames on his mother’s Irish heritage. He really does not do well with people teasing him about his personal affairs.

Tina squints her eyes at him, clearly not buying it, but not yet having the confidence to call bullshit after such a vehement denial on his part. Percival really dreads the day she gets over her hero-worship, because there will be no hiding anything from her anymore.

“Fine” she says, her tone of voice clearly indicating it is anything but “But, just so you know, in case it _was_ flirting, Credence is a very dear friend of mine, and I would hate to see him have his heart broken. He doesn’t deserve being the next Romilda”

“Are you giving me the shovel speech?” Percival asks, half in indignation, half in surprise.

Tina smirks at him in response, an uncannily bold expression in her normally pleasant face, before she adds, pointedly looking him in the eye as she speaks “Also, he’s single”

“Is that… Are you trying to set me up with your friend?” Part of him wants to feel horrified at the nerve of an underling, no matter how favoured, even daring to try and have a hand in his romantic life. The other half is too busy celebrating the confirmation of Credence’s singledom.

“Of course not, sir” Tina demurely denies “You just said you were not interested. Credence deserves someone who will not be ashamed to admit their feelings and be proud of him and their relationship”

Point, set and match to Tina Goldstein, ladies and gentlemen. Percival has never been told off pursuing a relationship in such an elegantly indirect and polite manner. He wonders if she would have changed her tune had he admitted to the flirting, but then remembers it does not really matter what Tina thinks, because Seraphina will still have his balls if he so much as tries to look at Credence the wrong way.

That night, he gives in and goes to the _Velvet Nymph._ Picking up strangers at a speakeasy is not his preferred way of dealing with his urges (High Society gatherings offer as many, if not more, willing participants, and the drinks there are free), but desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say.

The boy he takes home, dark hair, pale skin, and definitely a few years too young for him, does not even come close to Credence, but he does have nice eyes, and a willing mouth and, for one night, that is all Percival can ask for.

***

He ends up becoming a regular at the _Velvet Nymph_ , because picking up random strangers and fucking them while pretending they are Credence Barebone does not, shockingly enough, make his infatuation go away.

It does not help that Seraphina, in a move that Percival cannot quite decide if it is premeditated torture or just blissful ignorance, starts sending Credence as her liaison every time she needs something from him or his department.  On the one hand, it is is nice to get to see more of Credence, speak to him, even, without either Tina or Seraphina glaring daggers at the back of his head. Percival really appreciates that. What he does not appreciate is his complete inability to say ‘no’ to Credence. After nearly two decades of skillfully avoiding paperwork and bureaucracy like a World-Class circus acrobat, Percival meets his reckoning in the shape of one mild-mannered Personal Assistant.

His team, who have certainly noticed his hopeless crush by now, because Percival trained no fools, have the good common sense to keep their mouths shut, with barely an offhanded comment about his new observance of deadlines and paperwork formalities. It is a small solace in his increasingly busy and sexually frustrated existence.

(Tina does try to talk to him about it when she catches him looking at Credence retreating form, with what he imagines is an incredibly besotted look, but after Percival threatens to re-assign her to the Magical Beasts division she quickly lets the subject drop.

Bless her and her puffskein allergy)

The main problem, Percival thinks, as he ignores Congressman Osmander’s wandering address in favor of looking at Credence, is that the object of his desire seems to be pretty much oblivious to it all. If he were feeling optimistic, Percival would chalk it up to his fantastic acting skills and general composure, but since even Red, the bellboy house elf, seems to have cottoned on to the fact that he has got it bad, he is only left with two disheartening options: either Credence is aware of his pinning, and way better than him at acting, or he is the dumbest person Graves has had the misfortune of falling for.  From what he has been able to glimpse through their brief conversations, the young man is far from stupid, and has demonstrated an acute perceptiveness regarding political matters, which effectively means Percival is being politely ignored.

Sighing, he chances a glance at Seraphina, only to find her giving him her most accusatory glare. Clearly, she has not changed her mind on the matter of Percival making a move on her new favorite assistant. He resignedly turns away to try and focus his attention back on Osmander and his incessant droning.

Not for the first time he weighs in the pros and cons of ignoring Seraphina’s warning. Credence may be more willing to accept his affections once Percival has had the chance to court him properly. As proven by his most recent streak of successful pickups at the _Velvet Nymph_ , as well as more than twenty years of rich and varied dating story, he usually has no trouble getting the men and women he wants into his bed. Blessed with good looks, and proudly aware of it, he has perfected and refined his seduction technique over the years. From a loose tie, unbuttoned shirt and cocky smirk in Ilvermorny, to a tailored suit, a subtle caressing hand and bedroom eyes in Seraphina’s cocktail parties. See Credence try and politely ignore him after that.

Mind half made up, he does not realise Osmander has finally finished his speech and the chamber is pausing for a quick break before voting, until Seraphina leans over from her high seat at his left to hiss in his ear.

“Stop it, Percival”

“I’m not doing anything” he protests.

“You’re thinking it” she retorts “I don’t need Miss Goldstein to tell me when you are having improper thoughts about my PA”

He is about to complain that there is nothing improper about his plans to court Credence, when he spots the young man in question distractedly sucking on the tip of his quill from across the room, and the words die as his throat dries out at the sight.

“Merlin’s balls, you’re embarrassing” Seraphina grumbles next to him, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Percival cannot even bring himself to contest that, utterly enthralled by the sight of Credence pink lips as they close around the tip of the quill.

***

It is not often that Percival manages to go home on time. Last minute meetings, paperwork and uncooperative suspects usually delaying his end of the workday way past what would be considered as ‘dedicated’ and straight into the domain most commonly classed as ‘workaholic’. With no wife, or children, to return to, and his best friend and drinking partner as busy as he is, if not more, Percival does not exactly mind it very much. He would rather be in the office, or out on the streets chasing a good lead, than sitting at home by himself with only his thoughts and empty house for company.

Still, there is no denying that is nice to have an early day, once in awhile, if for no other reason than a chance to enjoy a bit of sun on his way home on a beautiful Spring afternoon. Percival is in quite a good mood by the time he gets off the elevator and leisurely strolls through the Grand Foyer, and his mood is only improved when he spots a familiar dark haired figure sat at one of the benches alongside the main wall. An early night _and_ an occasion to speak with Credence without Seraphina’s judging gaze, or mountains of paperwork between them, what a marvelous day indeed.

As he discreetly jogs over to where Credence is sat and finally catches a glimpse of his face, he realises the man seems to be upset, elegant brows furrowed in distress as he stares at a large cardboard box in his lap. Slowing down, he politely clears his throat to signify his approach, before he sits down at the other end of the bench.

“You’re looking a bit upset there, Mr. Barebone” he says “Any new crisis in the Presidency I haven’t heard about yet?”

“No crisis that I know of, Mr. Graves” Credence politely replies, a flitting smile dancing across his lips “Or at least none that would concern you”

Percival raises his eyebrows at that, prompting Credence to blush and hurry to amend “I mean, it’s not a political crisis or anything, Sir. You’ll probably think it silly…”

“You’re a very intelligent and sensible young man, Mr. Barebone” Percival smoothly replies, putting on what he feels is his most encouraging smile, usually reserved for trying to pull  answers out of recalcitrant or embarrassed Aurors “I doubt it would be silly if it’s managed to put such a worried look on your face”

The blush on Credence’s face deepens to a lovely red shade, and he throws one hesitant look at Percival out of the corner of his eye, before he opens the box on his lap. A small, black and furry head pops out of it, tiny, pointy ears flickering in curiosity as a pair of large, greeneyes look up at Percival.

“I didn’t know you had a kitten” Percival says, reaching out to lightly caress the soft fur on the top of its head.

“It’s not mine” Credence sighs, gazing sadly at the kitten “My landlord doesn’t allow pets in the building. Mrs. Gonzales’ cat had a litter, and she brought the kittens into the office for adoption today. This one was the only left. I’m meant to take it to Buchman’s Beasts Emporium so they can put her up for sale”

Percival hums in sympathy. The kitten’s plight must bring up some unpleasant memories from Credence’s own time in the system. He seems to remember Seraphina managed to secure a nice foster family for him, after he was successfully removed from the Second Salemers’ care, but that must not been enough to erase the years he had already spent in a dingy, Brooklyn orphanage all by himself.

“And how come no one wanted her?” he asks, rubbing the kitten under the chin and smiling when she purrs loudly in return. Cats are the most popular pet amongst New York wizards, being far less conspicuous than more traditional magical familiars like owls, toads or rats.

Credence openly hesitates for a moment, picking Percival’s curiosity, when the kitten answers the question for him by viciously biting down on his fingers.

“Fuck!” Percival exclaims sharply pulling his hand back and muttering a quick _Episkey_ over his bloody fingers. The kitten innocently meowls at him.

“She’s a bit… aggressive” Credence says “She bit, or scratched, everyone that tried to pick her up. I don’t think she’s going to do very well at Mr. Buchman’s shop” he adds with a weary sigh.

Sadness is such a terrible expression to see on Credence’s lovely face. His lips are twisted in an anguished grimace, and his usually bright and sharp eyes are dimmed and overcast. The image tugs at something within Percival and, before he can really think it through, he opens his big mouth and offers to adopt the murderous furball.

“Really?” Credence asks, his face immediately brightening like the sun peeking through the clouds after a storm.

“Yeah… sure” Percival replies, unable to go back on his offer now. How hard can it be to own a cat, anyway? Surely it is a small price to pay for the honor of being the sole recipient of Credence’s delighted smile. It is truly a sight to behold, all dimpled cheeks and bright eyes, and Percival is completely unable to tear his eyes away from it, nodding mindlessly as Credence lists off basic cat owning tips and gleefully coos at the newly-adopted kitten.

(The kitten is clearly as charmed by Credence as Percival is, since it politely accepts all rubbings and scratches with a soft purring sound, and no maiming attempts)

When Credence walks away, back to Seraphina’s office for some last minute errands, Percival is left holding a box with an adorable murder kitten and literally no idea how he is going to take care of it.

***

Instead of spending his hard-earned weekend relaxing in his favourite armchair, Percival spends it chasing after the vicious ball of fluff he stupidly acquired in a misguided attempt to impress Credence Barebone. The kitten scrambles off the box the moment Percival drops it on his kitchen counter, and proceeds to wreck absolute mayhem all over the house.

It breaks half of his vases, demonstrating an uncanny eye for antique and expensive pieces, eats (and regurgitates) his flowers, pees in every corner, and ruins his leather armchair almost beyond repair. Not happy with bringing chaos and destruction into Percival’s previously ordered and organised apartment, it also dispenses plenty of biting and scratching every time Percival so much as tries to hold it.

By the time he finds the little critter hanging from his very expensive silk curtains, and has to spend a good ten minutes trying to pry it loose, Percival is about ready to give up, send the kitten packing to Mr. Buchman’s, let some poor other sod deal with the problem. He is so busy attempting prevent any further destruction of his living room that its takes him a while to notice the carrier pigeon insistently tapping at his window, a large haphazardly wrapped packaged precariously held in its claws. He hurries to the window, almost tripping over the sofa cushions his new pet has disemboweled  just a few moments prior, and opens the window to let the poor, harried bird in.

The small Menace from Hell immediately starts hissing at the pigeon, back arched and hackles raised, but it takes nothing more than an indignant hoot from the bird to send it scurrying to hide behind the toaster, from where it continues to attempt and produce somewhat threatening noises without much success. It rather sounds like a boiling teakettle, rather than the fearsome predator it is probably aiming for.

Chuckling to himself at the kitten’s antics, Percival unties the package from the pigeon’s leg, pausing when he spots the handwriting on the envelope. There is no mistaking that tidy and meticulously neat style, the elegant loops and precise lines, he has signed uncountable documents and permits written by that hand. It still comes as somewhat of a surprise to see it on a clearly informal and messy envelope outside the familiar walls of MACUSA, but it is a very pleasant surprise indeed. He does not know how Credence found his personal address either, as it is not exactly public domain, but he honestly could care less.

The package contains a book, a small box of cat food, and a letter, which Percival wastes no time in tearing open.

 _Dear Mr. Graves,_ the letter reads in Credence’s tidy script, and Percival can already feel a fond smile tugging at the edge of his lips as his eyes skim downwards.

_I must express again how thankful I am for your choice to adopt the kitten. It may be my own past experience talking, but I simply could not bear the thought of it being sent to a shop to be put on offer, especially after all its siblings were adopted by loving families._

_In gratitude for sparing the poor kitten that sad fate, and my sentimental self the heartache of having the deliver him there, please accept this book as a gift. Mr. Buchman recommended it to me as the best source of information on feline care available to wizardkind, and since you mentioned you had never owned a cat before, I imagine this will be of great help._

_I also took the liberty of buying some cat food, as my celebration gift to the kitten for having found such a wonderful owner. I hope this is not too forward on my part._

_Best wishes,_

_Credence Barebone_

The letter singlehandedly saves Percival’s entire weekend. The enclosed book more than lives up to Mr. Buchman’s recommendation, and by the end of the day Percival has managed to reach something resembling a tentative entente with his new flatmate, as well as finally discovering he is in fact dealing with a ‘she’. Petting and other shows of affection still remain firmly off the table, but at least his furnishings will live to see another day.

It seems that, after all, the furball will get to stay, Percival reflects as he lounges in his newly repaired armchair, sipping a glass of scotch and re-reading Credence letter for what feels like the umptenth time.

He probably should think of a proper name for her.

***

“You’re completely ridiculous, I hope you know that” Seraphina tells him from her where she is perched atop his desk.

Percival smirks at her, savouring her obvious frustration like a fine, well-aged whisky. She can snipe at him all she wants, it does not change the fact that the kitten was a resounding success with both the Secretary Pool and Credence earlier this morning. The moment she peeked her little head out of his coat pocket, Credence’s eyes had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and he had not hesitated for even a second to approach Percival at the end of the meeting too coo at and pet her, chatting animatedly with Percival all the way back to Major Investigations, where he had bid his goodbyes before approaching a flabbergasted Tina for a quick coffee run.

It is the longest, most informal interaction they have had in ever and, if Percival had had any doubts about whether or not to keep the kitten, it would have certainly vanished them for sure.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with me getting a pet,” he says to Seraphina “you always say I needed to find myself some decent company”

Seraphina snorts in disbelief “I meant _human_ company, Percival, not a pint sized furball with anger management issues”

“She’s adapting” Percival says, immediately smoothing a hand over the kitten’s back, and withdrawing it just as quickly when she raises her hackles and hisses aggressively. She had been much more agreeable to Credence’s attentions a few moments ago, not that Percival can blame her, he probably would have been too.

“If she pulls anything during the next Congress meeting I’m turning her into a fur coat” Seraphina says, jumping of his desk and straightening her suit. She throws a quick, dirty look to the kitten before addressing Percival again  “The little pest looks downright vicious. I hope it bites your hand off”

“I’ve named her Phina” Percival flippantly replies, watching in amusement as Seraphina’s face contorts in affronted indignation before she storms right out of his office, slamming the door loudly in her wake.

***

Phina turns out to be as much of a menace as Seraphina predicted, wreaking absolute havoc all over Major Investigations, terrifying his Aurors and, in one memorable occasion, mauling Schiavone so badly the man had to be sent off to Wilkinson’s Hospital for stitches.

Percival grows fonder of her by the day.

It may well be a kinship born out of nothing but their apparent mutual love and adoration for Credence, but Percival finds he quite enjoys the way she hisses at new visitors from atop one of his glass cabinets, startling them the moment they enter the office, or when she plops herself atop his paperwork, legs delicately tucked in underneath her and large, green eyes staring up at him in a clear, unspoken demand to be petted.

The cherry on top, of course, remains the fact that Phina provides him the perfect excuse to talk with Credence, and he is milking it for all its worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter will be Credence's side of the story, covering his years at Ilvermorny and exploring his relationships with Seraphina and Queenie a bit further.
> 
> Comments are my everything, so please feel free to drop me a line if you liked this, or you can always come and shout at my in my tumblr, I'm also there as [dailandin](https://dailandin.tumblr.com/)


	2. The House of Wampus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Credence is ten years old, a witch steals him away in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT!! I feel awful that it's taken me this long to update, especially after seeing how many lovely comments and kudos people left on chapter one. The reason for the delay is a mix of writer's block (I'm not doing a flashback/recap chapter, ever, ever agaon), busy RL (good busy, mind you, but still not enough hours on the day) and me being stupid and trying to do too much at the same time (Hint: Look for a new fic this weekend). I'm the worst.
> 
> Hopefully the long wait hasn't completely killed off your interest in this.

When Credence is ten years old, a witch steals him away in the middle of the night.

After years of Mary Lou telling him how wicked and sinful he is, the abduction does not come as much of a shock. In a way, it is almost expected. Credence is a devious child, it seems only fitting for witches to come and take him away with them. The Hordes of Evil are always looking for ways to increase their ranks, and Credence, who constantly fails to memorise the Holy Scriptures, and whose gluttony prompted him to ask for a second bowl of soup on Sunday, is obviously a prime candidate.

What comes more as a surprise is the fact the the witch that steals him away is not some old, wrinkled hag, filled with warts and smelling of putrefaction. Credence’s witch is young, her skin terse and free of any blemishes. She wears an elegantly cut lavender coat and smells like the first blooms of Spring. When she appears in Credence’s room, she puts a delicately gloved finger against her dark lips, a silent request for him to remain quiet, before gesturing with her wand so that all of Credence’s meager belongings pack themselves into his battered suitcase.

“Credence Barebone” the witch says, her voice deep and melodic at the same time “My name is Seraphina Picquery. I’ve come to take you away from this foul place and into the World you really belong”

It probably says something about how naive and easily trusting Credence is, and how terribly Mary Lou treats him, that he accepts Seraphina Picquery’s offer without a moment of doubt. His small hand easy slipping into hers, as he gazes up at her in pure wonder and adoration.

***

To this day, he still remembers the abrupt, nauseating sensation of his first apparition jump. He also remembers throwing up all over Miss Seraphina’s polished leather boots and fearing she would turn him  into a frog for it. Of course, she does nothing of the sort, merely waves her wand on an almost tired motion, vanishing his vomit and polishing her shoes in a flash. Credence is unable to contain an awed gasp of admiration at the casual display of magic, prompting a small smile to insinuate itself in the corner of Miss Seraphina’s lips.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, my boy” she says, before taking him inside what he will later learn are the Headquarters of MACUSA, but on the day look like a magical kingdom of wonders.

His brief stay at the Magical Security offices, as well as the following weeks with the No-Maj Born Children Foundation, are mostly a half defined blurr. Miss Seraphina’s steady presence and reassuring smile the only constant in his life as everything he knew is turned upside down. Mostly for the better, mind you, but it is quite a big upheaval nonetheless.

His next clear memory, probably the clearest one he has from that brief, but intense, phase of his life, is of the day he is finally introduced to his new adopted family.

Miss Seraphina is the one to come pick him up at the Foundation, helping him finish his packing and combing his awkwardly growing hair so it does not look like a crow’s nest. Her hand is warm as they walk down the bare, white staircase to the reception room where Credence is to meet his new parents. Her skin feels incredibly soft against Credence’s scarred palms, and he wants to cling to her forever and never let go.

“Now, remember, my boy” Miss Seraphina says, crouching on the floor so she can properly look him in the eyes, not caring that her beautiful skirt trails all over the tiles “these people, your new parents, will care for you from now on. Properly care for you. I checked their references myself, twice, and they seem truly good, honest people. They tried for a child for a long time, and due to their age were could not be considered for younger adoptions. They are very keen to meet you. But, and that is very important, if you need anything, if you don’t feel safe with them, for any reason, you let me, or Madame Russell know, and we’ll come help you. Understood?”

Credence nods, throat too tight to properly form the words he wants to say, to properly thank Miss Seraphina for all she has done for him.

“That’s it” she smiles at him, discreetly wiping away a stray tear that clings to  the corner of his eye “You are a fighter, my boy, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise”

More tears threaten to spill after that, but Miss Seraphina stands up in a quick, seamless, motion, carefully smoothing down the folds of her skirt, and proceeds to walk him into the reception room. Credence furiously blinks his eyes to keep them dry, not willing to give a bad impression to his new parents, or to fail Miss Seraphina’s faith in him.

Turns out, he should not have worried so much about keeping his feeling to himself, because Mrs. Bailey promptly bursts into tears of her own the moment she spots him on the doorway, clinging to her husband’s arm and gesturing excitedly in Credence’s direction, all the while exclaiming how absolutely perfect he is. Mr. Bailey, even if a bit less enthusiastic than his wife in demonstrating his excitement, also has suspiciously watery eyes, and a smile wide enough that it threatens to split his face in half.

Credence, who has not been the source of so much joy ever in his life, is completely unable to stop the answering smile and happy tears of his own. It is not long before he is drawn into a hesitant embrace by Mrs. Bailey, who smells of sweet apples and cinnamon, and clings to him as if she had been waiting all her life for the chance to do so. Over her shoulder, he catches a brief glimpse of Miss Seraphina in the background, a blinding, white smile upon her face, as she looks on with obvious fondness.

***

Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, or Mom and Dad, as Credence will soon come to call them, are the ones to teach Credence what ‘family’ really means. After years of waiting, they are overjoyed at the chance to finally have a kid to call their own, and spare no effort, or expense, in ensuring Credence feels truly at home with them. He gets his own room, three times the size of his shared dorm back in the church, with huge windows and white painted walls, filled with more toys that Credence knows what to do with. They feed him scrumptious meals, eaten all together at the great table in the dining room, in beautiful porcelain plates, and massive servings. Credence never goes hungry, and if he ever did, Mrs. Bailey is quick to offer him a cookie or some other treat to fill his stomach. They never hit him, never raise their voices either, a disappointed look and strict reprimand the most fearsome weapons in their punishment arsenal.

Little by little, over days and weeks and months, the Baileys manage to heal the wounds left over from his years living under Mary Lou. The scars wwill remain, both the pink, jarred lines on his hands and back, and the dark memories and nightmares at the back of his mind, but the wounds are closed and hurt no more.

***

Credence makes his first friend on the Bus to Ilvermorny. Or, it would be more accurate to say, he is very insistently and enthusiastically befriended by one Queenie Goldstein, despite his own reluctance and initial protests.

She seats herself next to him, without as much as a ‘by your leave’, and proceeds to talk his ear off about her wishes and expectations for the year for the whole duration of the trip. By the time they arrive at Ilvermorny, Credence knows everything there is to know about her, as well as everyone else in the bus, because Queenie, it turns out, can read minds.

The revelation does not shock Credence as much as it probably should have. But then again, it is not like he has a good measuring reference for what passes as ‘normal’ in Wizarding society after merely having lived within it for a year. For all he knows mindreading is a common and widespread practice amongst witches and wizards and nothing to be surprised about. Additionally, Queenie’s gift means Credence does not even have to try and explain his past and lack of familiarity with Magic, she picks all the right information straight out of his head and skillfully sidestepps the subject for the entirety of their conversation.

They leave the bus having already promised each other eternal and unconditional friendship, and with the firm intention of being sorted in the same House. Queenie favours Thunderbird herself, that being the House her older sister Tina had chosen, while Credence has a stronger preference for Horned Serpent, the House both Mrs. Bailey and Miss Seraphina attended.

“You usually get a choice” Queenie calmly explains to him as they follows Professor Twinkbell to the Great Hall “Tina was offered Wampus and Thunderbird, and chose the latter because Madeline McCullough had just been sorted into Wampus and she could not stand the sight of her”

Unfortunately, things do not go as planned.

Queenie is sorted first. Hers is probably the fastest sorting of the Year. She has barely set foot on the Gordian Knot before the Pukwudgie statue raises its arrow into the air, signaling its approval. Queenie looks surprised for a second, before smiling brightly and making her way up to the Pukwudgie balcony to the raucous cheer and applause of her new Housemates.

Meanwhile Credence, still waiting in line for his turn, feels as his insides slowly start twisting themselves into knots. He dearly hopes the Pukwudgie statue will give him its approval as well, it would be a right tragedy to be separated from his first friend so soon after finding each other.

Which, of course, is exactly what happens.

The Pukwudgie statue does not move for Credence, remaining completely immobile no matter how much he mentally pleads with it. Neither does the Horned Serpent, the jewel in its forehead  remaining dull and lifeless. Thunderbird, then, thinks Credence, consoling himself by thinking that, if Queenie’s sister goes there, there will probably still be plenty of opportunities for them to meet and remain friends. Mr. Bailey had attended Thunderbird as well, he will surely be proud to have Credence follow in his stead.

The deafening roar of the Wampus catches him completely by surprise, making him jump and turn around to gap in shock at the statue. That is definitely unexpected. Credence has never thought of himself as a warrior of any kind. He has done nothing but cower for years under Mary Lou, bearing her beatings with silent tears and resigned acceptance, and if Miss Seraphina had not rescued him he would, almost certainly, still be there.

He climbs the stairs leading to the Wampus House balcony feeling like an impostor, mustering up only a trembling smile when his new housemates cheer for him and clap his back.

It is not until he is lying down in his bed, reflecting on the events of the day and wondering what could have possibly gone wrong, that he remembers Miss Seraphina’s words from the day she introduced him to the Baileys. _You are a fighter, my boy_ she had said. Credence had wanted to believe her back then as much as he does now, he wanted to be a fighter, a warrior, someone who could protect those in need, those he cared for.  Maybe that is what the Wampus saw in him, maybe it is something he can become.

***

Being a Wampus does not turn out to be nearly as bad as Credence first feared. Sure, most of his housemates seem to believe becoming an Auror is the only career worth pursuing, and they do get worryingly over excited over Quadpot games, but Credence finds he quite enjoys their company, even if on occasions he will sneak off with Queenie for a nice, calm walk on the grounds, or just some much needed quiet.

Inter-house friendships are actively encouraged by all professors and members of staff, but are still seen with some reluctant uncertainty by most students. With shared dorms and common rooms, and barely any shared classes, friendships outside one’s own House are considered an unnecessary effort at best, and outright treason at worst.

Credence’s own relationship with Queenie is initially regarded with barely disguised envy from his male Wampus peers at the beginning, when they all assume they are dating and wonder how a scrawny, shy thing like Credence could have scored a golden beauty like Queenie before they even stepped off the Bus. As time goes by, and they finally realise Credence and Queenie’s relationship is merely platonic, bewilderment substitutes envy, for what is the point of being so close with such a gorgeous girl from Pukwudgie if one is not even getting a chance to see her knickers.

“Ignore them” Kat McIntosh, his best friend amongst his fellow Wampus, tells him in Fourth Year, after Albert Fontaine spent a good three hours grilling him on the exact nature of his relationship with Queenie Goldstein “They still have trouble comprehending girls are actual living and breathing human beings with more interests than their own amusement”

Credence dutifully follows her advice, distantly wondering how easier his life would have been had he been sorted into Horned Serpent, the only House whose students prefer to keep to their own business, and do not seem to care one iota about who is dating or befriending whom, as long as their grades are up to standard and they do not disturb the peace of the Library. Wampus students, on the other hand, are brash, loud and unrelentingly stubborn, and although Credence does not exactly share the first two traits, he more than makes up for it in the latter. He maintains his friendship with Queenie, even going as far as to spend the summer holidays at her parents’ house, skilfully avoiding the constant enquiries about it until Sixth Year, when Arthur Stamets kisses him in front of the whole school during the Yule Ball.

Wampus House takes the revelation about Credence’s sexuality with resigned acceptance, unable to disguise how much they feel the whole thing is a terrible cop out to years of build up on the Queenie Saga.

“But I never _liked_ Queenie like _that_ ” Credence complains to Kat, unable to understand how his love life always seemed to generate such controversy with his Housemates.

“They were very invested” Kat absently replies, to busy counting her winnings from the Wampus Betting Pool “Especially after Wilberg caught you two embracing in the Flower Gardens last year, said it looked straight out of the cover of a romance novel”

“Her parents’ had just _died”_ Credence protests, horrified at the misconstruction of such a private moment.

***

Credence’s Ilvermorny Years encompass both the start and the end of the Great War. Initially regarded with excitement, especially amongst the Wampus students who altogether have all the self-preservation instincts of a suicidal lemming, the harsh reality of it takes no time to be felt. The sight of students being called in to the Director’s office to be told of a relative’s death become all too common, and the news keep running terrifying and alarming stories about new No-Maj weapons, and Black Magic being used in the trenches.

For Credence himself, the Great War does not have as much of an effect as what comes afterwards.

With a government heavily worn down by the War Effort, both financially and in popularity, and great casualties amongst its forces, it means new wizards and witches, have to step in to lead MACUSA and guide North America’s Wizarding Society back to a semblance of normalcy.

Miss Seraphina is one of those witches. As the newly designated Secretary of External Affairs at MACUSA, and despite the early complaints about her inexperience, she steps up to the role and does a magnificent job of securing MACUSA’s alliances with key Wizarding Powers. Hearing her calm, deep voice over the airwaves, is almost enough to make Credence forget about the nightmarish stories being pushed by _The New York Ghost_ about Dark Wizards and ancient relics. It is then, as she reaffirms her belief in the strength of MACUSA to protect its citizens and the need for greater International Wizarding cooperation that Credence decides he is going to follow in her footsteps and help her rebuild the World.

Hers is not the only post-War success story. The appointment of the new Director of Magical Security, one Percival Graves, makes the cover of all the papers. _War Hero to Lead Auror Department_ proudly announces _The New York Ghost,_ a picture of the man in question scowling at the reader from underneath the large heading.

“A hero!” Dad snorts upon seeing the article “More like a young upstart riding on his family’s name and fortune, I’d say. Why, he looks like he’s barely out of his diapers”

Personally, Credence thinks Director Graves cuts quite the dashing figure, standing straight to attention next to president Harkaway, but wisely keeps the thought to himself and nods in silent agreement at his Dad, as he surreptitiously sneaks the newspaper up to his room, where it joins the large collection of movie actors and Quadpot players’ photographs underneath his bed.

***

For years, Director Graves remains nothing but a faded newspaper photograph for Credence to moon over and Queenie to tease him about. Even in the relatively small Wizarding Community of New York, he seems as distant and unachievable as a no-maj film star, and Credence happily carries on with his life with the almost absolute certainty that their paths will never cross, and his silly little crush will remain happily one-sided and anonymous, as all silly teenage crushes ought to be.

The first sign that things are not going to go the way he expected is when Tina lands a job in the Major Investigations office.

“Teenie could introduce you now” Queenie comments out of the blue when they met for coffee during the Christmas break, laughing as Credence blushes and stutters in protest and Tina looks on in bewildered confusion.

“Introduce him to whom?” Tina questioned.

“Nobody!” Credence exclaims, at the same time Queenie says “Your boss, Mr. Graves”

“You want to meet Graves?” Tina asks, her eyebrows furrowing together, as she quizzically eyes Credence “What for? I thought you were not interested in being an Auror”

Credence tries to mumble some half-assed explanation about wanting to learn more about MACUSA high-ranking officers in preparation for his courses at Bellmister Law School, but Queenie quickly interrupts him yet again.

“He has a crush on him” she says, leaning over the table and smiling in delight.

“I don’t- Queenie!” Credence protests, his face burning. Next to him, Tina blinks dazedly, clearly baffled by the revelation.

“Why?” she asks, disbelief apparent in her voice.

Credence hunches his shoulders and concentrates on stirring his coffee, drawing careful circles with his spoon on the dark liquid ”I think he is very attractive” he murmurs into the collar of his shirt.

Tina’s face does a funny, quick, contortion as she assimilates the news. Credence privately wonders how she can work, day to day, next to Mr. Graves without being at least a tiny bit affected by his impossible attractiveness, he is quite sure he would not be able to act so indifferent, were he in her place.

“He is very grumpy” Tina says, drawing Credence out of his musings. At his enquiring glance, she quickly amends “I mean, he is nice. Most of the time. But he’s very grumpy about it”

Queenie snorts quietly into her tea, and Credence feels a smile pull at his own lips. Tina glares hotly at them both.

“He’s my boss” she protests “I make it a point _not_ to think about him like that”

“Thank Merlin I’m faced with no such restrictions,” Credence says, keeping his tone light and his face demurely blank “and I’m free to think about Mr. Graves all that I want, in the most unprofessional ways”

Tina stares at him in shocked horror, her cup held loosely a scant inches from her mouth. Queenie shakes with silent laughter at his other side, no doubt picking out quite the scandalous thoughts straight out of his mind.

“Which I do” he continues, letting himself focus on Tina’s horrified expression and forget about his own embarrassment “I think about him all the time. Especially at night-”

“Argh! Stop!” Tina exclaims letting her cup clatter noisily against the table, coffee spilling over the sides. She waves her hands in front of his face, motioning for him to shut up “I have to look him in the face everyday! Keep your lurid fantasies to yourself”

Queenie is positively cackling with laughter, and Credence soon joins her, much to Tina’s exasperation. Just like that, Mr. Graves goes from the distant, yet attractive, Director of Magical Security, and Credence’s secret teenage crush, to Tina’s Hot Boss and the source of much teasing and joking between the Goldstein sisters and himself.

***

More years pass. Credence graduates Ilvermorny and enters the Bellmister International  Law School, where he spends four years studying the intricacies of both Wizarding and No-maj Law. He dates. A bit. Two or three boyfriends that barely last six months all put together, but who at least manage to silence Queenie’s unending demands for him to find someone for brief periods of time.

His time is spent either focusing on his studies or actively following the latest political developments in MACUSA. Change is afoot, with the old guard steadily losing power and influence in favour of the new wave of politicians that surfaced at the end of the Great War. Miss Seraphina’s star burns the brightest, as she blazes a stellar trail through the Exteriors Department and, later on, the Vice Presidency itself. Credence follows her career closely, feeling a daft sense of pride at each and every one of her achievements, as fascinated by her as he had been when she had saved him from Mary Lou’s clutches.

Her victory in the Presidential race, during his final year at Bellmister, is seen with barely disguised surprise and shock by the press and public, who cannot quite fathom how a young, black woman has triumphed against her more experienced, male, and white, rivals. For Credence, though, the win is more than expected. It is way time overdue, he thinks, for Wizarding America to finally recognise the genius and wonder that is Seraphina Picquery.

And she does not disappoint. The first two years of her Presidential term are a resounding success, with approval ratings higher than any other MACUSA President in history and an ever-growing popular support. Credence is immensely proud to work for her, even if it is only as a mere legal assistant in the Department of Foreign Affairs. The satisfaction of knowing himself part of something bigger, greater, more than makes up for the measly pay, long hours and horrible temper of his boss.

Both his parents and the Goldsteins bear his dedication to his job with worried exasperation, unable to comprehend his motives, but all the same willing to support him in any way they can. From Queenie and Tina going through ever-elaborate schemes to pay for the bill every time they have lunch together, to Mom stocking his fridge with enough casseroles to feed him, and all the neighbors in his block, for at least six months, and Dad “forgetting” draggots all over his apartment every time he visits.

In the end, and despite his loved ones’ well-meaning skepticism, his dedication yields fruit. President Picquery personally invites him to join her Personal Assistant Team. He nearly faints when he read the summons, and ends up making a total fool of himself during the assessment interview, but it is all worth it just to have President Picquery smile softly at him, the same way she had fourteen years ago, and lightly comment “You have grown quite a bit, Credence, I almost didn’t recognise you”

He is quite sure a couple of big fat tears must have escaped his eyes at that point, but President Picquery politely pretends not to see them as she accompanies him to his new desk and briefs him on what its is to be expected of him from now on.

Work is still hard, the hours even longer, and although his salary has considerably improved, he now finds himself with no opportunity to spend it on anything. Still, he is the happiest he has ever been. Unlike his previous boss, President Picquery never shouts, always has a word of praise for a job well done, and valuable criticisms for when it is not up to her standards. Being allowed to work at her side, to witness her genius, is a privilege, and Credence spends the first few weeks on the job so dazzled by her brilliance that the rest of the world just fades into background noise. Even meeting Percival Graves, the object of many a late night fantasy, pales next to a throw-away compliment from the President.

(That does not mean, in any way, that Credence does not take the opportunity to appreciate the fact that Percival Graves is as devastatingly handsome in person as _The New York Ghost_ photographs had led him to believe, and perhaps even more so, given how badly the black and white images had failed to capture the depth of his dark brown eyes)

As time wears on and he becomes more accustomed to his new job, fascination starts to ebb away, and that is when things took a turn for the bizarre.

It starts when he is first properly introduced to Percival Graves. Nothing wrong, or weird, is said during the brief conversation they have, with Mr. Graves behaving as a perfectly charming (and unbearably attractive) gentleman, but Credence cannot shake away the feeling that something else has transpired at the time, something he had not been privy to, and that causes both Tina and President Picquery to eye him with a wary, assessing look that sets his teeth on edge.

Was Credence to casual in his address? Was his attraction too obvious? He does remember blushing when Mr. Graves first shook his hand, but that seems to be quite a common reaction where the man is concerned, if the dreamy sighs and lingering looks that follow each of the Director’s long, brisk, steps through the building are any indication.

In an effort to uncover what has Tina and the President looking so suspicious, Credence starts volunteering every time someone has to be sent to the Magical Security Department, but after two weeks he remains none the wiser. On one hand, Mr. Graves is the perfect incarnation of politeness and helpfulness, always making time for his queries, and delivering all required paperwork with a promptness unheard of anywhere else in MACUSA. On the other hand, Tina keeps looking at him as if he are a particularly tricky case she is attempting to solve, and President Picquery watches him like a hawk each time he returns from Major Investigations, her dark eyes swiping him from head to toe, in search of Merlin knows what.

He could probably ask Queenie what in Mercy Lewis’ name is going on, but after catching her gleefully chuckling at his predicament, he decides that ignorance is probably a better option.

***

“I couldn’t help but notice you have become our _de facto_ liaison for the Magical Security Department, Credence” President Picquery comments, completely out of the blue, on one otherwise unremarkable afternoon, after Credence deposits the daily briefings folder on her desk.

“I have?” he answers, avoiding her gaze under the pretense of rearranging the folder until it aligns perfectly with the rest of the pile.

“Percival’s newfound appreciation for sticking to deadlines hasn’t gone unnoticed, either” she adds.

Credence risks a curious gaze from beneath his lashes. As far as he is aware, Mr. Graves has always been incredibly good at meeting deadlines. He makes a soft, noncommittal agreement noise, not quite knowing what President Picquery is after.

“Sit down, Credence” she says, gesturing to the visitors’ chair in front of her.

He readily complies, awkwardly sitting down and clamping his hands between his knees to stop himself from fidgeting. President Picquery watches his every move, gaze dark and assessing.

“Ma’am” Credence says, in a timid attempt to break the sudden tension in the room. In front of him, President Picquery does not even blink, and Credence shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

“Tell me, Credence,” President Picquery says, her eyes not straying from his for even a second “has Director Graves ever behaved in any way that could be considered inappropriate in a professional environment”

“Inappropriate? What-” the question catches him completely wrong-footed, and Credence flounders trying to formulate a sensible, coherent, answer to such an outrageous, left-field accusation “No. Never. Why would you think Mr. Graves would-”

“So he has never made any untoward advances?” President Picquery interrupts him, apparently indifferent to Credence’s shock and embarrassment.

“Are trying to ask me if Mr. Graves tried to seduce me?” The man does have a reputation, after all, and Credence has heard the stories, but he never considered Mr. Graves could be interested in _him_ like that. They have barely interacted at all, with most of their brief exchanges revolving around paperwork, deadlines and meeting appointments. Hardly the stuff of torrid office romances.

“Well, did he?” President Picquery insists, squinting at Credence.

“No!” Credence exclaims, indignated on Mr. Graves’ behalf “Mr. Graves has been nothing but professional in my presence. He has never given me any impression that he would even consider me as something else than a fellow colleague, that- that he would ....”

“Want to sleep with you” President Picquery finishes for him, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

“Never!”

“Would you like him to?”

Credence chokes on his own spit. Years of vivid, sexual fantasies starring the man in question flash before his eyes. His face burns at the memories. He opens his mouth to attempt some half-assed denial, but the only thing that comes out is a pathetic, needy, and incredibly incriminating, garbled whimper.

President Picquery lets out a world-weary sigh, as she reclines into the back of her chair. Credence cannot help but feel like he has disappointed her in some fundamental way.

“Mr. Graves is a very attractive man, Madame President” Credence weakly tries to excuse himself. She can hardly find him at fault for thinking the same as half the employees at MACUSA with a working pair of eyes.

“That he is” President Picquery agrees “I’m well aware of the fact”

Credence nods, somewhat relieved with the acknowledgement of Mr. Graves’ remarkable looks.

“I’ve lost more than one Personal Assistant to Percival’s blasted good looks and dubious charms” President Picquery says “He somehow seems to be under the impression that my office is his personal dating service”

“That’s… unfortunate?” Credence says, unsure of how he is meant to reply to President Picquery’s allegations. He has heard about Romilda Harrington, the story of her short-lived and disastrous affair with Graves being the juiciest piece of gossip making the rounds at Woolworth when he started, and there have been rumors about a supposed fling with Mrs. González for years.

“Most unfortunate, yes” the President continues “I spend a lot of time and care selecting my team, Credence, only the most professional wizards and witches are allowed into my office, so it’s quite disheartening to see some of them throw that privilege away for a quick romp in the sheets with dear old Percy”

“I would never-” Credence starts to protest. He worked his ass off for his place, he is not about to risk losing it just to get some dick (no matter how much he has fantasised about said dick since the day he first laid eyes on its owner).

President Picquery quickly interrupts him, obviously lost in her own indignation “It’s always the same” she grumbles “He dials up the charm, sprouts the same cheesy pick-up lines, which are hilariously bad, yet still seem to work, and they jump headfirst into his bed. The ‘relationship’ then carries on for about two months, around which time Percival will inevitably get his commitment jitters and call the whole thing off, with all the delicacy and sensibility of a troll. Cue the heartbreak, the unnecessary dramatics in the office, and eventual resignation notice”

After her irritated tirade, President Picquery takes a brief moment to collect herself, coughing delicately to clear her throat and smoothing out her dress. Credence opens his mouth twice, but ends up closing it again without uttering any words, too baffled and confused to put up any coherent protest.

“You’re a very promising young man, Credence” President Picquery says, leaning into her desk, hands crossed in front of her and a small crease between her eyebrows “You’re bright, professional and passionate about what you do and, most importantly, you have a good heart”

“Thank you, Madame President” Credence murmurs, feeling his cheeks flush at the praise.

“Which is why,” President Picquery continues “I would especially hate to see you throw away your career”

“I won’t, Madame” Credence earnestly promises her, for what is a man (even a ridiculously handsome one like Mr. Graves) in front of honest, flattering praise from Seraphina Picquery herself? Absolutely nothing, as far as Credence is concerned “I would never let you down like that”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, Credence” President Picquery says, her face relaxing into an easy smile as she reclines back into her chair, sighing wistfully “It’s not that I don’t understand the appeal, trust me. I’ve been there myself”

Well, Credence thinks as he tries to keep the surprise from sowing too visibly on his face, that is one long-running rumor about Mr. Graves put to rest.

“It was a long ago time ago” President Picquery hurries to add, perhaps mistaking Credence’s shocked silence by judgement “We were both  in the Auror Academy, barely out of Ilvermorny and still brimming with teenage hormones. Our earlier friendship devolved into six months of sexual tension-fueled fights, and flirting disguised as banter, all culminating in a very disappointing quickie in the broom closet” She pauses, while Credence does his very best not to let his jaw hit the floor at the unexpected confidence, and then adds, with a playful smile on her lips “Nothing to do with Percival’s performance, of course. While he is, uh, pretty well gifted, we just didn’t click quite right”

“Madame President…” He starts, only to immediately trail off. What is he even supposed to respond to something like that? He was perfectly fine not knowing that President Picquery and Mr. Graves had bumped uglies when they were younger or that Mr. Graves, in addition to being ridiculously good looking, was also hung.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, dear” President Picquery says “That was way too personal and completely inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me”

“I don’t mind” Credence is quick to reassure her. He does appreciate her trusting him with such a personal anecdote, even if the contents of it came as a bit of a shock.

She snorts lightly “You’re too good. I guess I’ve known you for so long I feel like I can tell you anything. Nevermind my youthful escapades, though, I’m glad we had the chance to have this talk. I have high hopes for you, Credence, and I’ll be damned if I let Percival ruin them for you”

***

Now that he knows, the signs are everywhere. Credence almost wants to hit himself for failing to notice them earlier. The prompt delivery of documentation ahead of deadlines, the just-a-bit too charming smiles, the cup of coffee always waiting for him whenever he visits his office, the way Mr. Graves’ eyes follow his every movement whenever they are in a room together.  It is all painfully obvious.

“It has been for months” Queenie tells him as she hands him his morning coffee “but it’s nice of you to finally notice”

“Thanks, Queenie” Credence mutters into his cup, pointedly ignoring her amused giggles as she strolls away with her cart.

His newfound awareness has brought some clarity as to Mr. Graves’ behaviors and motives, but has also caused Credence no small amount of frustration. It was one thing to admire the man from afar, knowing his attraction would never be reciprocated, and it is quite a different one to know that if he were to go up to Mr. Graves and plant a kiss on his lips it would be no time before he was bent over the man’s mahogany desk.

“Over his desk, really? You are not even gonna ask him to buy you dinner first?”

“I’m not gonna ask him _period_ , Queenie”

Although he does not think an affair with Mr. Graves would end up causing him so much heartbreak as to want to resign from his job, he is plenty aware of how such a relationship would be seen by the rest of MACUSA. He has seen plenty of examples, as rumors about higher ups going at it with their secretaries filter through the corridors, where the younger, poorer, lower-ranking party inevitably ends up mocked and criticised for daring to ‘sleep their way to the top’. It is not that Credence particularly cares about what his co-workers think of him, he has never put much stock on strangers’ opinions on his persona, but if he ever wants to have a future in politics a colorful sexual story is the last thing he wants added to his resumé.

Things are obviously different for Mr. Graves. His polite compliments and longing stares are unburdened by any concerns about public opinion, he is free to flirt and tease with the comfortable confidence of those who have never had to fear judgement for their actions. Credence envies him, wishing the World were less complicated so that he could allow himself to be as carefree with his affections.

As it is, he decides to do his very best to squash down his attraction, starting by burning down the newspaper photograph that started the whole mess. It feels oddly liberating.

“You do know you cannot just burn the attraction out, right?” Queenie asks him the next day, her brows furrowed in delicate concern,

Well, he can damn well try.

He is in fact doing quite well, if he says so himself, before Mrs. González decides to bring her newborn kittens to the office and Credence, in a monumental lapse of judgement, convinces Mr. Graves to adopt the runt of the litter.

Phina is an obstacle he could not have possibly accounted for.

It takes all his self-control and poise not to melt into a puddle of goo the first morning he sees Phina’s small, furry head poke out of Mr. Graves’ coat pocket, and while the cooing noises are admittedly not his proudest moment, he is still quite satisfied that he managed to keep his attention focused primarily on the cat instead of her owner. Progress.

Focusing his attention on the cat quickly becomes his preferred strategy for dealing with Mr. Graves. It does help that Phina is an absolute delight and always seems thrilled to see him, quickly jumping on his lap the moment he sits down and purring like a no-maj locomotive. Credence does not know where this undying devotion comes from, given that, for all appearances, Mr. Graves is taking perfect care of Phina, her fur is soft and shiny, her brand new, crystal studded, collar is probably worth more than Credence’s whole apartment, and she even seems to have put on a bit of a happy pouch.

“Nonsense” Mr. Graves protests when he points out Phina’s increasing roundness “She’s a perfectly acceptable weight. Mr. Buchman says kittens her age need all the nutrition they can get”

Credence politely refrains from pointing out that kittens her age usually get a lot more exercise, something Phina is quite clearly lacking due to Mr. Graves’ insistence to carry her everywhere like she were a newborn baby. She is one lucky cat, Phina. Credence knows more than one witch who would want nothing more than to be carried everywhere on Mr. Graves’ strong arms. And that is a bit of a kicker, Phina gets to snuggle up to Mr. Graves without needing to worry about the potential repercussions to her professional career, she goes home with him at the end of the day, blissfully unconcerned about rumors and gossip, and, probably, same as her namesake, has even had the privilege of seeing the man naked while Credence is left to stew in his own lurid fantasies.

“I’ve seen your fantasies, dear, they’re pretty tame”

“I’ve asked you not to pry into my private thoughts, Queenie”

“And I didn’t! You were broadcasting louder than a badly tuned radio”

His subconscious has not quite managed to get on with the new programme and still regals him with vividly detailed erotic dreams starring Mr. Graves that leave him panting and sweaty, tangled up in his cheap bed sheets, do absolutely nothing for his professional advancement, and make it painfully awkward to face the man in question the following day.

But still, despite the odds, he resists.

***

At the beginning of his brave resistance, Credence lives under the, somewhat naive, impression that Mr. Graves’ attraction to him has gone mostly unnoticed by anyone but President Picquery and the Goldsteins. He really ought to have known better, taking into account that Mr. Graves’ team is comprised of the country’ best and brightest detectives, but he lets himself be lulled into a false sense of security when none of his former Wampus acquaintances makes any mention of it.

As such, he is definitely not prepared for it when, on his way to Mr. Graves’ office for their weekly briefing, he is suddenly ambushed by two Aurors, fresh in from an undercover assignment, if their dirty clothes and rank smell are anything to go by.

“Good Morning, Barebone!” exclaims the shorter Auror, falling into step behind him and leaning in uncomfortably close.

Credence tries to back away, upset and confused by the sudden display of familiarity, and more than a bit repulsed by the disgusting smell emanating from the other man, which is probably strong enough to fell an Erumpent. His retreat is promptly cut off the the second Auror, an impossibly tall specimen who looks like he probably eats Erumpents for breakfast.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” He asks between clenched teeth.

“We were wondering if you might be on your merry way to the Director’s office” the shorter Auror says, a slight Italian accent coloring his words. The accent, along with the sudden closeness, finally allow Credence the place him.

“Indeed I am, Schiavone” He responds, as calmly as he can manage, which is not much when squeezed between two foul-smelling strangers in a random corridor.

Michele Schiavone had been on his last year at Ilvermorny when Credence started, and although he was a fellow Wampus, Credence was only vaguely familiar with him on account of the fact that Schiavone had spent the majority of their shared year sitting in detention instead of the Wampus Common Room.

“Splendid” Schiavone says and, without giving Credence a chance to react links and arm through his “Freddy and I shall escort you there, then”

“Wha-?” Credence starts to protest, before the other Auror, ‘Freddy’, links an arm through his as well, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process, and the two of them manhandle him to the nearest elevator.

Too stunned to react, Credence lets himself be pulled, well, carried, to be more accurate, since the two men have basically lifted him so that only the tip of his shoes touch the floor, all the way to Mr. Graves’ office.

“Who’s there?” Mr. Graves’ tired voice filters through the polished oak door after Schiavone knocks to announce their presence.

“Schiavone and Murphy for the Queens debriefing, Sir” Schiavone says, quickly shushing Credence when he tries to announce himself.

“About fucking time!” Mr. Graves’ barks “Get your useless asses in here”

Without having any time to collect himself Credence is dragged into the room against his will by his newly acquired escorts. He tries, once again, to make himself known but, before he can even muster a polite ‘Good Morning’ he is interrupted by Mr. Graves, who is clearly on a roll and wastes not time in starting to berate his Aurors for their stupidity.

Credence has never seen him in full Director mode before and, used as he is to the calm, collected and ever-polite façade Mr. Graves usually presents him with, he is understandably shocked at the fury and viciousness with which he tears into his Aurors. He is mid-way a very elaborate metaphor comparing their intelligence to that of a particularly challenged flobberworm when he finally notices Credence stuck between the two of them. His mouth snaps shut with a loud clapping sound, as his face twists into a painfully awkward and constipated expression, his right eye twitching intermittently, almost in sync with the pulsing vein in his temple.

For a second, Credence worries he may actually be going into seizure.

“Mr. Barebone” he finally manages to blurt out, blinking rapidly as if to dispel a bad dream “I didn’t notice you here”

Credence opens his mouth to reply but, once again is beaten to it, this time by Schiavone.

“We found him on the way to your office and graciously offered to accompany him” He says “Sir”

“I came for our weekly briefing” Credence hurried to add, quite tired of being spoken over “I scheduled the appointment with your secretary last Friday”

“Right, of course” Mr. Graves says, looking increasingly panicked. His eyes dart quickly around the room, and his fingers tap a rapid tempo against the surface of his desk “I’m very sorry, but could you-”

“Leave you to your meeting?” Schiavone once again interrupts, earning himself an irate glare from Mr. Graves and annoyed scowl from Credence “Absolutely. We understand business with the Presidency must take precedence. Freddy and I will see ourselves out and leave you to it. Won’t we, Freddy?”

Freddy merely grunts in agreement, his arm still firmly locked with Credence, who is starting to develop a serious kink on his shoulder from the height difference.

“Right” Schiavone says, taking a dirty, crumpled, piece of paper out of his pocket and approaching Mr. Graves’ desk with the same cautiousness one may use when facing a rabid beast.  When Mr. Graves does not even twitch, glaring at Schiavone with unwavering intensity, the Auror delicately places the note on Mr. Graves’ immaculately clean and ordered desk, before he proceeds to briskly vacate the room, only stopping briefly to clap Credence on the shoulder, and mutter a quiet “Nice to see you”.

“Sir” Freddy grunts out, bowing his head in Mr. Graves’ direction before he promptly follows his partner out the door.

Mr. Graves remains glaring at the door for a few more seconds, visibly fighting the urge to either run or shout after his subordinates. It is obvious that the only thing preventing him from storming the Major Investigations office and hexing their asses to next Monday is Credence’s presence in the room.

“Should we start the briefing then, Mr. Graves?” Credence politely asks.

Mr. Graves jumps slightly at his words, eyes going wide as he turns to look at Credence.

“Of course, of course” he agrees, shuffling stack of paper around his desk and smoothing a hand over his impeccably tailored waistcoat, as if to remove some invisible wrinkle “What does Seraphina have for me this week?” he asks.

Credence cannot help but notice the relief in Mr. Graves’ voice. He imagines the man is clearly glad to slip back into the security of routine and formality after being made a fool in such a blatant way by his own subordinates. Taking pity on him, Credence does his very best to behave professionally and put the whole thing behind them as swiftly and discreetly as possible.

***

Unsurprisingly, word quickly gets around the Auror department, and it is not long before Credence is ‘being escorted’ to each and every one of his meetings with Mr. Graves by cowardly Aurors to scared to own up to their most recent mishap.

Schiavone, being the original instigator, is also the most frequent offender, but apparently fear of Mr. Graves’ Mighty Temper knows no age, rank or seniority. By the end of the month, Credence has escorted what feels like half the Auror department, up to, and including, the fearsome Senior Auror Margaret Vallier who, rumor has it, is so tough she makes Dark Wizards cry just by entering the interrogation room.

Dark Wizards, apparently, have nothing on an angry Mr. Graves.

Poor Mr. Graves, though, looks increasingly more harried and stressed each time Credence sees him. Where before he was always greeted with a warm smile and an offer for coffee on entering the office, he is now met with disgruntled looks and ever-furrowed eyebrows, as Mr. Graves wages a silent battle between his desire to loudly berate his Aurors, and his need to appear as calm and collected as he can before Credence.

It is hard not to feel a bit sorry for the man, although Credence silently hopes that the whole situation will effectively help kill any affection, or attraction, Mr. Graves feels for him, and that, after a while, they will be able to go back to their early polite and professional interactions.

(As an upside to the whole mess, the Auror’s ‘Thank you’ gifts have done wonders to fill his cheap, ramshackle apartment with a true trove of completely useless knick knacks. The pair of soft leather gloves given to him by Valliers is probably his favourite, although he does have to admit a soft spot for Schiavone’s freshly baked lasagna and pasta casseroles)

***

“Credence, one of your Aurors here to see you” Mr. Price informs him as he sweeps into the office “Looks really upset too, must have been a major screw up this time”

Credence breathes out through his nose. He is swamped with work. Budget reviews are coming up and all Heads of Department at MACUSA are filling his inbox with numerous meeting requests, project plans,and a whole other lot of official, tedious, and boring, documentation. He does not have the time to be babysitting Aurors.

“Tell them to go away” he says, not even raising his eyes from the Treasury Personnel files (and what does Director McAllister need so many secretaries for?)

“Credence” a soft, broken, voice says above him. A very familiar voice.

Credence’s head snaps up immediately.

Tina Goldstein smiles down at him, a weak, trembling twitch of her lips, that does nothing to disguise her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. She sniffs, loudly, in a futile attempt to prevent more tears or snot  from falling down, before giving up and hastily rubbing her face with the back of her hand, just managing to spread the mess further.

“I fucked up” she says, voice wet with tears.

“Oh, Tina...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could have Tina possibly done? Mmh, I wonder
> 
> As always, comments are my best reward and motivation. Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> Some notes on this chapter:  
> \- Credence being sorted into Wampus: yes, he is a bit awkward and clearly not a social butterfly, but he is also a murdery cloud of anger who smashed half of Manhattan in a rage fit. Boy's a fighter.  
> \- Keeping the Barebone surname: He was offered to take his adopted parents' surname, but chose to keep his own, because it was what he knew and, later, it was too much a hassle to change it. (Deep down, he enjoys having a controversial surname)  
> \- Michele Schiavone: is actually a character I created for another fic, "From Guernica, With Love" (very soon on an AO3 near you), based on an OC of mine completely unrelated to FBAWTFT. Lazy? Yes, but, you know, it's good to recycle.


	3. Disciplinary Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina cries until her eyes run dry, held safely in her sister’s loving arms, and with Credence dedicatedly holding her hand all the way through. Once tears are done, she rubs at her eyes, dries her cheeks, and resolutely pops open her bottle of Gigglewater.
> 
> “To bad choices” she says, holding the bottle proudly in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, guys! I had intended to update this chapter before the end of 2017, and now we're more than two months into 2018 and I feel AWFUL about making everyone wait for so long, especially because the response to this fic has been amazing, and I loved all the comments so much.
> 
> Part of the reason this is so delayed is because I needed to cover several plot points in this chapter in order to keep my five chapter plan. I'm usually quite stubborn at keeping plot points contained in the intended chapters, but this one just kept getting longer, and longer, and by the time I was over 17k words I gave up and resigned myself into splitting it up. So, the upside of the story is: next chapter is 90% done.
> 
> The other reason, is that I just tripped and fell into two other fandoms, which have been taking up quite a lot of time: the fabulous flaming trashcan that is the Harringrove ship from Stranger Things, and the incredibly addictive Critical Role webseries (which, coincidentally, also has a character with a traumatic past, self-esteem issues and a black smoke monster).
> 
> Still, I'm determined to finish this fic, even if the updates may be a bit longer than before (not that they've ever been especially fast).

Tina meekly follows Credence out of the Presidential wing and towards the elevator that will take them to Mr. Graves’ office. She does not say a word, merely sniffles silently, keeping her head bowed and her shoulders hunched up to her ears.

Credence tries to respect her privacy. Tina is his friend, and he is happy to support her in whatever capacity he must, no matter what mess she has gotten herself into. Still, curiosity eats away at him. Tina is the picture-perfect example of everything a dutiful and sensible Auror should be. From her sensible dress to her impeccably written reports, she always makes sure to toe the line, and is widely regarded amongst the department as Mr. Graves’ favored protegé. 

Whatever it is she did, it must have been big.

“Here” He says, taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and offering it to her.

Tina glances at it, confused, before accepting with a small nod of gratitude. As she loudly blows her nose, Credence silently bids goodbye to his only decent handkerchief. All for a friend, though.

“I did something incredibly stupid, Credence” Tina says, carefully folding the handkerchief in her hands.

“You’re a very smart woman Tina” Credence replies, keeping his voice as calm and reassuring as he possibly can “I can’t believe you would do something stupid unless you had good reason to”

She smiles humorlessly back at him. Her eyes are still red, if a bit drier, and tear tracks are drying on her cheeks. She has never been a pretty crier, her pale skin coloring in the most unflattering way, with splotchy cheeks and a red nose to match.

“I hexed your mother” she quietly admits.

What.

“I mean, your old mother” she quickly rectifies on noticing Credence’s confusion “The bad one. Mary Lou”

“I don’t see how that would be stupid” Credence says “Merlin knows how many times I’ve fantasized about doing the same thing myself”

More than a decade has past since he was under that woman’s vile thumb, but Credence has not forgotten, and he has, most definitely, not forgiven anything. It is not a fantasy he indulges often, but he can readily admit to thinking about it more than once.

“I hexed her in front of a street full of people” Tina says “Two full obliviator squads had to be deployed to control the damage”

Credence hums noncommittally. While he can appreciate the immense risk Tina’s actions pose for the Statue of Secrecy, he is having a hard time caring much about them in the face of Mary Lou getting her just desserts. Merlin, but he wishes he had been there to witness it.

“She was hitting this young girl, couldn’t be more than eight” Tina continues, her hands twisting the handkerchief as she recalls her memories “A-And I just… I thought about you. About how you had to live with her for seven years before President Picquery got you out, and before I realised what I was doing I had my wand out and I sent her flying across the street”

That is a mental image Credence will treasure until the end of his days.

“Graves is gonna be so mad. I supposed to just ‘observe and report’”

Wait.

“You were tracking Mary Lou Barebone?” He asks. This is the first he hears about it. There has been nothing on Mr. Graves’ reports indicating MACUSA is keeping tabs on Mary Lou.

“Those Second Salemers of hers have been causing some disturbances downtown” Tina explains “Graves asked me to take a look”

And kept it from Credence. Mary Lou stirring things up downtown with her anti-witch propaganda is exactly the type of issue Credence, as the main Presidency liaison with Magical Security, needs to be made aware off. The fact that Mr. Graves decided to keep him on the dark about it, in some pointless effort at chivalry, no doubt, ranks Credence something bad. He is not some frail damsel who ought to be protected from the evils of the World.

“Well,” he says “I may be slightly biased on the issue but, street full of people or not, I cannot see how hexing Mary Lou Barebone could be considered a bad thing”

Tina smiles “Thank you, Credence”

He returns the smile, reaching out for her hand at the same time and giving her a reassuring squeeze “C’mon, let’s get this over with” he says “I’ll buy you a Hot Dog afterwards”

Tina grips his hand back so hard it is almost painful.

“With extra mustard” she says.

***

Any slight hope Credence may have held that the whole issue would be swiftly dealt with and never spoken off again, is immediately dashed as Tina and him enter Mr. Graves’ office. President Picquery is already there, delicately perched on the side of Mr. Graves’ desk, her hands demurely crossed on her lap, as she regards them with studious calm. Behind her, Mr. Graves sits reclined back on his massive leather chair, in just a waistcoat and shirt sleeves, with his hair mussed, and a deep crease etched between his eyebrows.

Credence hovers at the door, uncertain, as Tina quickly crumples into a small ball of nerves and anxiety at his side, whatever confidence he managed to instill back into her on the way over, evaporating like mist in front of her boss’ obvious displeasure.

“Mr. Barebone” Mr. Graves says, his voice unusually rough and gravely “I’m afraid I’ll need to deal with Auror Goldstein, privately, before I can meet up with you, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to kindly step out and return at a later time”

Credence opens his mouth to protest, but a soft squeeze on his arm by Tina, and a warning glance from President Picquery quickly silence him.

“You may wait outside, Credence” President Picquery tells him.

“Of course, Madame President” he says and, with a last reassuring look at Tina, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and sits himself down on floor of the corridor.

The floor is cold, marble not being especially good at retaining heat, no matter how many heating charms MACUSA weaved in through the foundations of the Woolworth building. The corridor is disparagingly empty, all the better to keep Director Graves, and other MACUSA Heads of Department, comfortably isolated from hubble and bustle of the main offices, but it just helps make Credence’s wait all the more unbearable.

He shuffles, trying to find a better position that does not uncomfortable flatten his ass, and leans against the door in an effort to try and catch any glimpses of the discussion going on inside. Unfortunately for him, MACUSA’s founders were clearly better at sound-proofing charms, than they were at providing proper heating. Giving a frustrated huff, he reclines back to his previous position and kills some time folding a small paper mice for Queenie, informing her of her sister’s troubles so that she does not need to find out via the gossip vines.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door in front of him opens and Tina steps through, head bowed and shoulders shaking with silent sobs, as fresh tears stream down her face. 

Credence is up on his feet, and at her side, in a flash, drawing her into his arms and letting her sob into the cradle of his neck. Tina is as tall as he is and, with the heels she insists on wearing, towers over him for a good few inches. It makes their hugging position somewhat awkward, and probably incredibly uncomfortable for her, but she does not seem inclined to to complain, clinging to his back with closed fists as she cries her eyes out.

“I-I-I’ve been demoted” she mumbles in between hiccups “Indefinitely” she adds with a soul-tearing wail.

Credence just hugs her tighter in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches President Picquery exiting Mr. Graves’ office, as poised and calm as ever, not a hair or a stitch out of place. For the first time ever, Credence resents her.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Credence?” President Picquery says “Help Miss Goldstein home and make sure she is feeling better”

They both know there is nothing that will make Tina feel better now, short of her magically getting her job back, but he nods anyways.

“Of course, Madame President. Thank you”

She nods back at him, something that may be pity lurking quietly in the back of her eyes, before she swiftly glides past, leaving Credence and Tina alone in the corridor. In the sudden silence that follows, Tina’s sobs sound even louder, reverberating off the polished walls and softly echoing down the darkness of the passage.

With one last, angry look at the door leading to Mr. Graves’ office, Credence gently nudges Tina to move and, together, they slowly make their way up to the foyer and out of the Woolworth building.

***

He takes Tina to his apartment. He knows her flat would probably be a more appropriate place for her to recover, but he does not think they would be able to make it through Mrs. Esposito’s ever-watchful eye in the state Tina is in. So his small, hovel of a flat it is.

“I can make hot cocoa” he offers, puttering around the kitchen with no clear aim or objective “Do you want some hot cocoa?”

Tina looks at him, a forkful of reheated lasagna in her mouth, and slowly nods her head yes. 

“Hot cocoa would be nice” she muses, scooping up another rather large serving of lasagna in her fork.

“Good” Credence “I’ll, uh, I’ll set to it. I have some cocoa powder Queenie bought for me somewhere. It probably won’t be as good as hers, but-”

“It’ll be fine” Tina interrupts him, smiling sadly from across his small kitchen “Thank you, Credence”

He nods silently, a noose on the back of his throat, as he goes about gathering the ingredients. He will make the damn best hot cocoa he is capable off. Tina deserves nothing less, not after Credence failed so spectacularly at protecting her from Mr. Graves and President Picquery when she most needed him.

“This lasagna is amazing” she comments “I didn’t know you were that good at cooking”

“Schiavone made it” Credence replies, scooping up a spoonful of cocoa powder into the simmering pot of milk “Or his Mother, I’m not sure. I have at least half a dozen more of them in my fridge. They’re my reward for helping him avoid Mr. Graves’ reprimands”

Tina hums around her fork, distantly gazing out of the window, and Credence kicks himself for reminding her of how he had failed to save her from that fate.

“I’m sorry, Tina, I-”

“Schiavone has the luck of the devil” she muses, interrupting him “He always seems to land on his feet, no matter how bad the fall. I, on the other hand, cannot seem to help but stumble all the time” She pauses, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, before she clears her throat and, looking at Credence dead-on the eyes, announces “I’m gonna eat all the lasagna, and that hot cocoa you’re preparing for me, and then we’re gonna go out and you’re gonna buy me the largest Hot Dog in the city, with extra mustard on it. I’ll cry, and you’ll graciously provide me a shoulder to do it on, and then, once I’ve had enough of tears, we’ll get drunk”

He opens his mouth. For a moment, he considers contesting Tina’s plans, telling her that gouging on food and alcohol is no healthy way to cope, but as he looks at her red-rimmed eyes, and the stubborn set of her jaw, he finds himself unable to protest.

“The lasagna will clash horribly with the hot cocoa” he says instead.

Tina snorts in response, pointedly stabbing her fork and scooping up a specially large and cheesy ration and bringing it up to her mouth, chewing loudly once it is in.

Queenie arrives just as they are finishing their drinks and, after hugging Tina tightly while Credence cleans the kitchen, promptly agrees to join them in their Hot Dog and booze escapade with minimal judgement. Like Credence, she probably finds herself unable to deny her sister anything, and so the three of them make their way up to Central Park, a few bottles of vintage Gigglewater under their arms (courtesy of Auror Morrisson), and find themselves a nice, quiet spot to sit down and throw their little pity party.

As promised, Tina cries until her eyes run dry, held safely in her sister’s loving arms, and with Credence dedicatedly holding her hand all the way through. Once tears are done, she rubs at her eyes, dries her cheeks, and resolutely pops open her bottle of Gigglewater.

“To bad choices” she says, holding the bottle proudly in front of her.

“To bad choices” Credence and Queenie agree, lifting their own bottles and clinking them together.

***

The splitting headache Credence has the next day does absolutely nothing to help his already sour mood. 

Tina has been demoted to the Wand Registry department, working for the rat-faced, boot-licking Mr. Abernathy, who takes entirely too much pleasure in ordering around a former Auror fallen in disgrace. The drinks and jokes of the past night are nothing more than a fond memory now, and, in the harsh light of day, Credence finds his anger resurfacing once again.

He loudly stomps past through Major Investigations on his way to Mr. Graves’ office and, for the first time in weeks, no Auror steps out to escort him. Bleeding cowards are probably too scared to be anywhere in the vicinity of their boss at the moment. For a moment, Credence is half-tempted to go in and politely ask if any of them need their hand held for their next duty report. Watching them squiggle in embarrassment may help make him feel better.

His petty thoughts keep him mildly amused until he reaches the door to Mr. Graves’ office. He pauses, for a brief moment, to straighten his clothes, take a deep, calming breath, and school his face into a mask of polite indifference.

(He tries for the distant and regal look President Picquery usually presents before Congress, but has a strong suspicion that his portrayal actually falls somewhere closer to ‘constipated’)

Knocking once to announce his presence, he pushes the door open and walks inside. 

“Ah, Mr. Barebone, please take a seat” Mr. Graves welcomes him, barely glancing up from the document he is reading as he gestures with his hand to the chair in front of him.

Credence’s first instinct is to proudly rebate the offer. He has not come to see Mr. Graves for a friendly chat. Not after yesterday. But, once he has a chance to look at the man more closely, his indignation falters, and he finds himself quietly following his instructions.

Mr. Graves looks terrible.

If Credence thought the man looked upset yesterday, before he demoted Tina and crushed her dreams and aspirations, today he looks positively wrecked. His hair falls down in clumpy, greasy strands over his eyes, which are underlined by dark, heavy bags, and Credence is fairly sure the shirt and waistcoat he is sporting are the exact same ones he wore the day before.

Phina, delicately perched on the desk, just by Mr. Graves’ elbow, throws Credence a long-suffering look. ‘Do you see what I have to deal with?’ she seems to say.

“Should we review the status of the main on-going investigations, or do you have something else on your agenda you’d like to discuss first, Mr. Barebone?” Mr. Graves asks, finally raising his eyes to look at Credence and closing down the document folder he was working on.

“I’d like to review the investigation on the Second Salemers” Credence says, keeping his tone as formal as he can manage.

Mr. Graves’ eyebrows lower instantly at his words, and his mouth twists into a small moue of displeasure.

“I’ve already discussed the proceedings of that investigation with President Picquery” He says, leaning forward on his desk and linking his hands together as he fixes Credence with a warning look.

Credence pointedly ignores it.

“Well, I’ve had no record of it in any of my reports, and, given the potential severity of the situation, I do think it’s important to-“

“That investigation is being dealt with through the proper channels” Mr. Graves sentences with an air of finality “and its specifics should not concern you, Mr. Barebone. Next” he adds with a brusque gesture of his hand.

Grinding his teeth Credence moves on to the next item on the agenda. He has far from given up on finding more about the Second Salemers, but he knows a dismissal when he hears one, and knows he will not be getting any information from Mr. Graves on the matter.

What follows is probably the most stilted, awkward and painful meeting Credence has ever had to suffer through in his whole life. Be it because he is tired, or because he was upset by Credence’s enquiries into the Second Salemers, Mr. Graves behaves like a right ass for the whole duration of the meeting, finally honouring his reputation as one of the most stubborn and difficult to work with Heads of Department. It is no wonder Mrs. González and Mr. Pierce had been so happy for Credence to take over as Magical Security liaison, if this is what they had to deal with on a weekly basis. After twenty minutes of short, clipped answers, continuous grumbling, and blatant disinterest in anything being discussed, Credence is fighting the urge to strangle the man with his own ostentatiously fancy tie.

“Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?” he asks, gripping his pen a little harder than necessary to prevent himself from flinging it at Mr. Graves’ head.

Mr. Graves just hums in response, distractedly scratching Phina behind the ears, as he stares vacantly at some indefinite point behind Credence’s shoulder.

“Fine” Credence snaps, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary “I’ll see you next week then”

He has already collected his belongings and is halfway through to the door, when Mr. Graves’ voice sounds from behind him, a low, hesitant, almost tentative, tinge to it.

“How’s Tina?”

Credence stops dead in his tracks. Takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully through his nose, and turns to fix Mr. Graves with his more accusing glare.

“Hungover” he spits out, before swiftly turning on his heel and making his way out, punctuating his exit with a loud slam of the door.

The nerve of the man!

***

Tina adapts. She is far from happy, and clearly still mourning her lost job, but after a few weeks she, at least, stops wandering around MACUSA like a soul stuck in Purgatory. Credence is immensely relieved to see her slowly bouncing back but, at the same time, he cannot seem to let go of his anger at Mr. Graves for both firing her and hiding the Second Salemer investigation from him in the first place.

He knows he is being irrational. He knows he probably would not be as affronted if it had been some other random Auror in Tina’s place, or if the victim had been anyone else but Mary Lou Barebone, but the matter of the fact is that it was Tina who fired the spell, and Mary Lou who was on the receiving end of it and, no matter how much he may want to feel differently about it, Credence is mightily pissed off at Mr. Graves for firing her for it.

As a consequence, and despite Mr. Graves’ apology for his abrupt behaviour on the day after the incident, their weekly meetings have gone from pleasant, relaxed chats over coffee, to stilted, overly formal exchanges. Well, stilted and overly formal on Credence’s part, since Mr. Graves basically spends most of the time balefully staring at him like a kicked puppy and makes no small effort to bring their relationship back to what it was before the incident. He does not let any of Credence’s barbed accusations or snippy replies affect him, keeps a cordial and friendly façade through all their encounters, and politely enquiries after Tina every time he gets a chance. In short, he is unbearably professional and grown up about the whole thing. 

It drives Credence up the wall. 

The worst of it, though, is that his continued anger and indignation towards Mr. Graves have done absolutely nothing to help quell his desire for the man. Even as he wants to shout at him until his throat goes dry for firing Tina, Credence cannot help but appreciate the attractive width of his shoulders,  emphasized by his exquisitely tailored suit, or the perfect, stone-cut edge of his jaw. The only noticeable change has been on his dreams, where heartfelt love declarations and tender kisses have been replaced by angry, passionate office makeouts. And the fact that, just entering Mr. Graves’ office is nearly enough to give him a boner these days, only helps make Credence angrier at the whole situation.

The only potentially good thing to come out of the whole mess, is that the Aurors, demonstrating uncannily perceptive survival instincts, have finally stopped using him as a human shield, keeping his ongoing feud with Mr. Graves thankfully private.

(On the downside, that also means there are no more lasagna bribes, and Credence is once again stuck with MACUSA’s cafeteria stale sandwiches for lunch)

***

As was to be expected, it is not long before Credence’s one sided vendetta lands him in trouble. While it is not uncommon, or even reprehensible, for MACUSA employees to resent superior officers, it is understood that said resentment should be kept private and not have any effect on the workplace. Getting into a shouting match with the Director of Magical Security in front of the whole Major Investigations department and the President definitely does not meet those requirements.

He should have listened to Queenie when she told him he needed to learn to let go of his grudges.

The whole thing starts off inoffensive enough. Credence is accompanying President Picquery in an extraordinary briefing with Major Investigations to address the latest unexplained explosions taking place all over the Lower East Side. Mr. Graves is there, obviously, on his function of Director of Magical Security, as are his top Aurors (none of which dare to look Credence in the eye as of late. Cowards), and the meetings is going just fine until Mr. Graves makes an offhand comment about the difficulties his department is facing by being understaffed.

Credence opens his mouth, before he even has time to properly think through the implications of doing so, to snidely point out that “Maybe if you didn’t demote your Aurors for doing their jobs you would have enough people to support the investigation”

The pregnant, almost deafening, silence that immediately falls over the room should have been his first clue that he stepped over a line that is not meant to be crossed. The second, would have been President Picquery’s elegantly raised eyebrows and pointed look. Any other day, Credence would have spotted the signs, read the room, and shut the fuck up. Today, his anger takes the wheel.

“Miss Goldstein’s reassignment was a definite loss for the team and, while we will be glad to welcome her back in due time, I would prefer if we could focus on how to address the task at hand” Mr. Graves says, demonstrating a level head and offering Credence a nice, elegant way out of the whole he started digging for himself.

So, of course, Credence chooses to completely ignore him, because despite President Piqcuery’s silent warning, and Mr. Graves’ best intentions, the Second Salemers’ affair hits too close to old, scabbed over wounds for him to leave it alone.

“Tina was not ‘reassigned’, she was fired for doing her duty” he replies.

“Miss Goldstein’s duty was to observe and report” Mr. Graves promptly fires back, and edge of steel entering his voice as he turns his full attention to Credence “She hexed a no-maj in the middle of a high-traffic street, in direct defiance of Rappaport’s Law, recklessly endangering the Statute of Secrecy”

“She was protecting a child from being horribly beaten!” Credence says “Not mindlessly firing off hexes as you seem to imply”

“A no-maj child!” Mr. Graves barks “Which should have been reported to the proper no-maj authorities”

“For what?” Credence asks, raising his voice and leaning forward into Mr. Graves’ personal space “They wouldn’t have done anything! They never do! That’s why people like Mary Lou Barebone get away with doing shit like this over, and over, and you don’t understand-”

“I understand plenty, Mr. Barebone” Mr. Graves hisses back at him, not backing down an inch and calmly holding Credence’s irate glare “I ran the original investigation into her, years ago, which resulted in you being brought into MACUSA’s custody. Now, if you please, I would like to go back to the discussion at hand today, you can either stay and keep your mouth shut, or you can remove yourself from the room until you’ve managed to calm down. Are we clear?”

The room is quiet, Credence’s ragged, angry breathing seemingly loud against the sudden silence, his heartbeat pulsing rabbit-fast in his chest and in his temple. Mr. Graves’ eyes are twin pools of darkness, calm and undaunted, as they stare Credence down, and it is that calm, that absolute impassiveness that stokes his temper, making it course like fire along his veins. He opens his mouth again, ready to reply, when President Picquery interrupts him.

“Mr. Barebone” her voice is ice cold, clipped and sharp, and it takes all the fight out of Credence as easily as popping a balloon “We’ll speak in my office”

Closing his mouth and locking his jaw tightly, Credence sharply turns on his heels and stomps away, loudly smashing the door shut on his way out.

He sits at his desk for what feels like hours, right foot tapping an uneven tempo against the marble floor, as he struggles to concentrate on the latest reports. Anger slowly ebbs away from him, to be replaced with fear and embarrassment as he rewinds the scene in his head. His throat locks tight at the memory of President Picquery’s dismissive words, the coldness of her tone, the silent judgement in her eyes. He screws his eyes shut, in a futile attempt to banish the images from his mind, only to recall Mr. Graves’ face as he stared back at him, the silent disappointment there, and he feels like a right ass.

By the time President Picquery returns he has an apology ready on the tip of his tongue but is given no chance to let it out before she coldly informs him he is thereby suspended from work, without pay, for a whole week.

“Use the time off to work on that temper of yours” she says as she gracefully glides out of room, leaving Credence standing there, absolutely gobsmacked, and feeling like his whole world is collapsing around him.

***

He spends most of the week alternating between feeling sorry for himself and angry at Mr. Graves, for whom he has an absolute tangled mess of feelings he does not even know how to sort out. He settles for anger because it is the easier one, and it also gives him an excuse to get roaring drunk on gigglewater, which leaves him pleasantly numb for a good part of the day.

(It is not even the good gigglewater, either, they drank all the nice bottles he had when Tina got fired, so Credence is now left with some cheap, vile stuff that is not even fit for unclogging the sink)

“If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Graves is not doing so good either” Queenie informs Credence when she shows up to check on him.

Credence ponders the thought for a moment, before deciding that no, knowing that Mr. Graves is also feeling miserable does not make him feel any better. If anything, it increases the low-simmering feeling of guilt that has been curling in his stomach for the past few days.

“I was quite rude to him” he says, curling further into his armchair.

“You were a dick” Queenie replies as she delicately perches herself on the arm of his chair and smooths a hand over his sweaty, uncombed hair “A righteous dick, mind you, but a dick nonetheless”

Credence groans, leaning his head further into Queenie’s soothing touch. He does feel like a dick.

“Phina does miss you”

“She’s a cat” Credence mumbles “I thought you couldn’t read animals’ minds”

“I don’t need to read her mind to hear how she whines like a grief-stricken widow every time she passes by your desk”

Credence huffs a small laugh in response as he leans his head against Queenie. He pointedly does not ask how Phina happened to pass by his desk, or if her owner also lets out a small whine of his own when he does. He feels stupid mourning the loss of a maybe-relationship he had been intent on not pursuing, and does his best to banish any wandering thoughts about whether or not Mr. Graves still fancies him from his mind. Queenie, bless her gentle, caring heart, does not mention them either.

***

The last day of his suspension he forces himself to step out of the house. Queenie has been badgering him with daily Floo calls, telling him to get some fresh air to clear his head (“and ventilate your room, Merlin, Credence, it stinks worse than a pigsty by now”), so Credence grudgingly obliges, if even just to get her off his back (and also because the stench is starting to get to him after six days).

Without realising it, he finds himself downtown, the imposing spires of the Woolworth building rising above, a few blocks in front of him. He sighs, lowering his eyes, as he forces himself to turn right, away from Woolworth, from President Picquery, and Mr. Graves. He wanders aimlessly for a few more minutes until he spots a familiar figure making her determined way across the street, hat on her head, coat unbuttoned and flapping wildly in the wind, and a freshly bought Hot Dog held firmly in her hand.

As far as Credence knows, Tina’s new job at the Wand Registry is  a strictly office-bound role. In fact, being restricted to her desk all day long has been Tina’s main complain this past few weeks, which makes her midday stroll around town more than mildly intriguing. Curiosity piqued, and missing any other real purpose, Credence resolves to follow her. Maybe she has a day off as well, and they can commiserate together about their job woes over some coffee.

He manages to catch up with her just as she stops by a large group of people stopped in front of the National Bank.

“Tina!” he eagerly salutes, playfully poking her on the shoulder.

Tina jumps about a foot high in the air, fumbling with her Hot Dog, and only narrowly avoiding covering the both them in mustard and other assorted condiments.

“Mercy Lewis!” she exclaims when she has managed to recover, clutching her Hot Dog protectively against her chest “You almost gave me a heart attack”

“My bad” Credence apologises, amused “Are you on break? We could-”

“What are you doing here?” Tina brusquely interrupts him, glancing nervously at something behind him.

Credence furrows his brow in confusion “What am I…? he starts to ask, and then immediately drifts off when he finally spots the figure standing at the top of the bank steps behind him.

Mary Lou Barebone.

His first thought is that she has not changed much. Same haircut, same drab, plain dress, same expression of eternal distaste, and same blue, feverish eyes. She has two girls with her. The first, Chastity, he recognises. He had called ‘sister’ for the six years he lived under Mary Lou. The second, a waifish, blonde girl with a stubborn expression, is new. Probably the kid Tina had attempted to protect.

Mary Lou’s eyes pass over him, unrecognising, but Credence flinches and draws into himself all the same. His heart pounds loudly in his ears, and he can feel a cold sweat break across the back of his neck. He stumbles when he tries to get back, disoriented, and half panicked, and only Tina’s steadying grip prevents him from going sprawling to the floor.

“Credence,” she says, softly, as she starts to lead him away from the crowd “are you okay?”

“What are you doing here, Tina?” he asks, instead of responding “I thought Mr. Graves had forbidden you from approaching the Second Salemers ever again” and while Credence may not agree with Mr. Graves harsh sentence, he cannot quite see how blatantly disobeying a direct order from him is going to help Tina get back into his good graces and reclaim her place in the Major Investigations team where she really belongs.

“Credence, I, uh, well…” she drifts off, uncertain, before throwing a quick glance at Mary Lou.

Credence does not follow her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on her face (a much more pleasant sight than Mary Lou and her new minions), but whatever it is Tina sees, it clearly strengthens her resolve. Mouth set, her lower jaw slightly pushed forward in determination, and her eyes ablaze with righteousness, she turns to look back at Credence.

“I cannot leave them unwatched” she stubbornly declares “Graves withdrew the observation detail about a week ago, Merlin knows why, and that, that  _ vile _ woman has done nothing but raise trouble since then”

Mr. Graves undoubtedly withdrew the observation detail to re-assign the resources to the mysterious explosions case. Credence sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. As much as he wants Mary Lou brought down (he is not very particularly as to the how, or why), he knows the investigation into the explosions must take priority. However, making Tina, who lost her job and her dreams because of the Second Salemers, understand that bringing Mary Lou in is not the main priority, is going to be a whole other matter.

He wants to grind his teeth in frustration. Getting out had been a terrible idea. He should have stayed in his smelly pigsty of an apartment, feeling sorry for himself, and finishing off his last reserves of gigglewater. Instead, here he is, in the middle of an anti-witches rally, spearheaded by his childhood abuser, discussing the ethics of stalking angry bigots without proper authorisation with Tina.

“I have to keep an eye on her” Tina insists, gesturing vaguely in Mary Lou’s direction, even as she tries to keep her voice hushed to avoid drawing too much attention “If only for the kids. Surely, you can understand that, Credence”

Of course he does. He understands better than he wishes to, but he cannot think properly. Not here. With Mary Lou’s voice drifting over, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck, and stirring the nightmares from so long ago. He risks a surreptitious glance at Mary Lou and the girls as they stand in front of the crowd, the Second Salemers banner raised behind their backs, and the still familiar donations chest open at their feet, where a niffler is discreetly filling his pouch with the offerings.

And- wait, what?

“That’s a niffler” he dumbly says, as he watches the small creature startle at something and run up the steps of the Bank.

“A what?” asks Tina, whose knowledge of Magical Creatures only extends as far as the houses of Ilvermorny.

“A niffler” he responds “It’s a magical creature known for their affinity to gold and gemstones, but they’re not native to North America…”

He drifts off as he and Tina both spot a gangly young man hastily make his way up the stairs in obvious pursuit of the creature. The just-a-shade-too-bright blue jacket and general haphazard appearance would be enough to identify him as a wizard, even without the wand sticking out of his pants back pocket.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake” Tina mutters as she determinedly sets off after the wizard.

“Wait, you can’t-” Credence attempts to warn her “You’re not an Auror anymore. Tina!”

Tina either cannot not hear him, or chooses not to, and Credence is left with no option but to hurry after her, lest she ends up hexing the poor wizard and they both lose their jobs for good.

***

“Nothing in the case is dangerous” Mr. Scamander stubbornly protests as Tina drags him into MACUSA.

Credence would very much like to disagree. Had he and Tina not been there to obliviate half the bank, the potential damage to the Statue of Secrecy would have been considerable. Not to mention what would have happened if Mary Lou had caught sight of any of it. Credence shudders at the thought.

They should have called the Aurors to the scene and let them deal with it, especially considering Tina had been skipping work to keep an eye on Mary Lou, and Credence was still on mandatory leave. But, when Tina had shown her (now obsolete) Auror ID card, and arrested Mr. Scamander, Credence had kept his mouth shut. Technically, he reasons with himself, Mr. Graves had not said anything about Tina staying away from quirky, British animal traffickers, and by taking in Mr. Scamander, she is, at least, not stalking the Second Salemers any longer. With a bit of luck, delivering Mr. Scamander and his suitcase of illegal monsters to the Aurors will help reduce her sentence. So, Credence says nothing as they all squish together into the elevator and Tina announces, her voice only wavering slightly, “Major Investigations, please”

“I thought you was not allowed there no more” Red says, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Major Investigations, Red” Credence repeats, infusing his voice with all the authority he can muster.

Red squints at him, and then lets a leering smile cross his lips “To see Graves, yes?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

“He is expecting me, yes” Credence lies, hating the blush that immediately spreads across his cheeks.

Red turns around to press the buttons, laughing under his nose, and causing the flush to climb up to the top of Credence ears and down the back of his neck. Damn House Elves and their gossip.

***

It turns out, they do not need to make their way to Mr. Graves’ office as he, and President Picquery, are attending a meeting in the main Major Investigations area.

The room falls silent the moment Credence and Tina walk in, tension so thick and palpable in the air, that even Mr. Scamander, who until now has demonstrated a clear lack of social graces, seems to be aware of it, causing him to squirm uncomfortably in Tina’s grasp.

“Mr. Barebone” Mr. Graves says, slightly breathless, his lips parted in surprise, as his dark eyes sweep over Credence, from head to toe, with undisguised hunger. He has the look of a man half starved who has just been presented with a ten course meal consisting of his all-favorite foods.

_ It has barely been a week _ , Credence would like to shout at him but, while it is true that hardly enough time has passed to warrant being greeted by such a longing-filled stare, he finds himself unable to put up as much as token protest in his own mind. Seeing Mr. Graves again is like a punch in the gut, leaving Credence tongue-tied and dry-mouthed despite himself. The man wears stress unfairly well, he thinks morosely, as he takes in the dark bags under Mr. Graves’ eyes and the not-as-neat-as-usual hair.

“Mr. Barebone” President Picquery says, walking up to them “Miss Goldstein”

Credence’s gaze instantly snaps from Mr. Graves to the President, and he immediately cowers at the anger he sees in her eyes. Next to him, he can feel both Tina and Mr. Scamander tense as well.

“Madame President, Mr. Graves, Sir” Tina starts, because she is a witch on a mission who is not going to let herself be distracted by either her boss and her friend’s simmering sexual tension or President Picquery’s wrath “this is Mr. Scamander” she says, attempting to push the man forward, but Mr. Scamander plants his feets and keeps his eyes to the ground, looking by all means like a specially recalcitrant child about to be scolded. Tina huffs in annoyance, but carries on, in a rush “He has a crazy creature in that case and it got out and caused mayhem in a bank”

President Picquery lets out an annoyed sigh, her gaze not losing an ounce of its intensity as, behind her, Mr. Graves raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“And is there any reason why that ‘mayhem’ could not be handled by a proper Auror team?” President Picquery asks. She keeps her voice calm, words soft and measured, but Credence is not fooled. Her eyes are as hard as steel.

“There wasn’t any team in the vicinity,” he says “and given the current, uh... crisis, we felt it would be more efficient to just bring the perpetrator in ourselves”

“Well, nothing to it now” Mr. Graves pipes in, a warm, conciliatory smile on his lips, as he steps up next to President Picquery and gestures for Tina to hand over the suitcase “We may as well take a look now, shall we?”

Tina hands over the suitcase, throwing a soft, shy smile at Mr. Graves, who returns a reassuring one of his own. 

President Picquery looks silently over the proceedings, her face a mask of calculated indifference that makes Credence increasingly nervous. Living with President Picquery’s disappointment is completely new territory for him and, so far, the experience has been most disagreeable. He carefully bypasses her, keeping his gaze lowered in silent deference, as he approaches the main table where Mr. Graves is laying out the suitcase, Tina bouncing nervously at his side as Mr. Scamander keeps resolutely staring at his feet, shoulders ever so slightly hunched over.

“Let’s see what we have here…” Mr. Graves murmurs as he opens the latches on the case, and lifts the cover, to look at its content. 

They all lean forward in anticipation to look at the case but, contrary to what Credence had been expecting, no niffler jumps out to steal Mr. Graves’ tie pins or President Picquery’s earrings. No other magical creature flies, slithers, or crawls their way out of the case either. There are no growls, no cries, no strange sounds.

Pastries.

The case is full of pastries.

Tina visibly swallows as she stares, completely aghast, at the perfectly arranged rows of éclairs, cream puffs and sugar cookies. Next to her, Mr. Scamander seems to be fighting an internal battle between relief and panic, which ends up making his face look extremely constipated. Credence for his part, feels like a rock has settled at the pit of his stomach. He can  _ feel _ President Picquery’s disappointment as if it were an actual physical presence behind his back, so tangible is it.  And, still, that’s nothing to the absolutely betrayed look Mr. Graves throws his way, eyebrows furrowed and eyes filled with hurt, as he slowly backs away, shaking his head.

“I don’t understand…” Tina says, sounding oh, so small.

“There was a niffler” Credence says, carefully pushing pastries aside to get to the bottom of the case, as both Mr. Graves and President Picquery look on with twin looks of impatient frustration.

“I swear there was a niffler” he insists, glancing up helplessly at Mr. Graves, begging him to believe his words.

Mr. Graves sighs. A deep, long-suffering sigh that seems pulled out from his very core. His shoulders slump slightly as he glances up to silently survey Credence and Tina, eyebrows pulled down in a frustrated frown to match the tiredness in his eyes.

“There are no nifflers in North America, Mr. Barebone” he says, voice a flat, dispassionate monotone.

Mr. Scamander looks, for a brief moment, as if he would very much like to add something, subtly balancing on the balls of his feet and raising a hand, before he seems to think better of it and curls back into himself, shoulders up to his ears and eyes locked on the, presumably, very interesting floor tiles.

“Mr. Scamander is British!” Credence exclaims, waving a hand in the man’s general direction “He probably brought the niffler from Overseas. Illegally” He adds, throwing a pointed look at Mr. Scamander at the last bit.

“And how do you suggest Mr. Scamander smuggled the beast through no-maj customs, Mr. Barebone?” President Picquery interjects, looking increasingly irritated at the ongoing discussion.

Fear of incurring on her wrath, more than he already has, almost stops Credence from speaking up, but a quick glance at Tina, looking small and defeated as she listlessly stares at the pastry suitcase, pushes him to stand his ground.

“He could have obliviated the no-maj customs agents” he argues.

Mr. Graves snorts in disbelief as President Picquery raises a pointed, questioning eyebrow. Mr. Scamander, for his part, pauses in his long contemplation of the floor design, to look at them all with his most beatific expression, blinking slowly as if to say ‘Who? me?’.

Credence wants to wring his skinny neck for getting them into this mess.

“He doesn’t even have a wand permit!” Credence protests.

“And you don’t have any evidence!” Mr. Graves fires back, causing Credence to flinch at the brusqueness of his tone. Noticing this, Mr. Graves takes a deep breath, collecting himself, before he continues, in a much calmer voice “It’s irrelevant whether the President and I believe your claims or not, Mr. Barebone, if you have no evidence to back them up. Unless you can find that niffler, I’m afraid we’ll have to let Mr. Scamander go for now”

Biting his lower lip in frustration, Credence forces himself to nod. There is nothing to be gained by antagonising Mr. Graves further and, since President Picquery does not seem too keen on him at the moment either, the best option is to let it go.

“Tina” Mr. Graves says, turning to his former subordinate, a soft, kind look in his eyes “Why don’t you take Mr. Scamander to the Wand Permits office and get him sorted out?”

“I- Yes, of course, Sir” Tina quickly agrees, putting on a half-hearted attempt at a polite, thankful smile that falls short of its target, coming out trembling and hesitant instead. 

Credence hates seeing it.

“Mr. Barebone, if you cou-” Mr. Graves starts to address him, but President Picquery swiftly cuts him off.

“Go home, Mr. Barebone” she says, dismissively, her attention already back on the maps and reports strewn around the desk “I’ll see you back in the office first thing tomorrow, once your disciplinary leave has finished”

“Madame President” Credence says, sketching a quick, stilted bow in her direction, and throwing one last, despairing look at her turned back, before promptly making his way towards the elevator. 

He feels oddly bereft as he strolls through the busy Main lobby. Never before has President Picquery been so cold and distant towards him, so easily dismissive. His insubordination a week ago clearly had a bigger impact in their relationship than he first realised, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He has built his whole professional life around President Picquery. She is both his mentor and his inspiration, and her indifference now leaves him unmoored and more than a little lost.

***

The MACUSA Emergency alarm wakes him up in the small hours of the morning. 

After a brief moment of hesitation, where he wonders if his suspension can be considered over and if he is meant to answer the call, he hastily puts on a suit and swiftly apparates to MACUSA.

The Main lobby, when he enters, is completely empty and shrouded in darkness. His steps echo eerily in the empty space, and he slows down to glance up at the Magical Exposure Threat Level clock. The needle is firmly stuck on “Emergency”, Level 8. Anxiety twisting in his gut, Credence hurries through the corridors, taking the stairs two at a time, as he makes his way to the Pentagram Room.

“What a way to come back, eh?” Gonzales says as she suddenly appears from behind him, her clothes in even more disarray than his, and her hair a wild mess of curls struggling to get out from under her hat.

Credence nods, smiling faintly at her, thankful for the comfort of a familiar, friendly face.

“Shall we?” He asks, pointing at the imposing brass doors leading to the Pentagram room.

“We better” Gonzales agrees, distractedly patting her hair in a fruitless attempt to smooth it down.

The Pentagram room is buzzing with activity as they enter. Congressmen hurrying around to their seats, half of them still in their sleeping clothes, and Ambassadors frantically whispering amongst themselves, fear clear in their eyes.

President Picquery and Mr. Graves are both already there. Mr. Graves is slouching over in his seat, still wearing the clothes from the day before under his cloak, which he has not bothered to take out, and distractedly patting Phina’s head as she snuggles in his lap. President Picquery sits impatiently in her chair, dressed in an elegant, gold-embroidered dress, wearing her formal headpiece, the one bathed in gold and encrusted with actual diamonds. She is tapping out an irregular rhythm with her fingernails on the lacquered armrest, and barely spares a glance for Credence and Gonzales as they take their usual seats at her back. 

After waiting for a few more minutes, President Picquery stands up, raising a hand to gather the attention of the room, and prompting all attendees to fall silent.

“Congressmen, Ambassadors” she salutes, her voice reverberating loudly across the room “Thanks for coming on such short notice. As you may be aware we find ourselves in a high emergency situation, under a threat level unprecedented since the days of Salem. Following weeks of unexplained magical accidents across the city, and despite our Aurors’ best efforts, I’m afraid the menace, the creature, roaming our streets has finally taken a life today”

Shocked gasps and frantic murmurs break out across the room. Credence and Gonzales glance at each other, matching worried expressions on their faces.

“Silence!” Mr. Graves barks, his loud, authoritative voice cutting through the noise and chatter like a knife. Obediently, the room goes quiet.

Throwing a quick nod in his direction, President Picquery continues “The victim is a no-maj. Senator Henry Shaw Jr. He was killed this evening, in front of a ballroom full of fellow no-majs, by what has been described as an invisible, magical force. Obliviators have been dispatched to the scene to contain the damage, but we must address the underlying cause. This magical force, this beast that has now been haunting our city for weeks”

At a quick wave of President Picquery’s wand, the ceiling shifts and shimmers, thick clouds twisting and parting, to reveal a body. A corpse, more exactly. Its features are twisted in a grimace of pain, dark marks all over his face, the flesh blackened and wrinkled, almost like a poisoned wound.

The sight of it makes Credence almost throw up, and causes the whole room to erupt into a heated discussion. MACUSA Congressmen shouting about Salem, blaming Mr. Graves for the lack of results in his investigation, and threatening to depose President Picquery if no proper explanations are provided. The British Ambassador is quick to jump into the fray, loudly stating the murder can only be the work of the feared Wizarding Supremacist Gellert Grindelwald, and blaming the German and Swedish Ambassadors for their failure to apprehend the man. The accusations are, quite understandably, not taken very well, and it is not long before all Ambassadors are pointing fingers and throwing the blame around as easily as if it were confetti.

And then Tina Goldstein bursts into the room, pulls Mr. Scamander, and a no-maj, out of a suitcase, and loudly proclaims an army of magical beasts has broken free and are roaming wild in the city.

Mr. Graves looks like he is about to have an aneurysm. Credence sympathises with him. It seems the whole night just keeps getting worse and worse, so he is not even surprised when President Picquery orders Mr. Graves to confiscate the suitcase and arrest Tina and her two friends.

***

“So, how did it go?” President Picquery asks the moment Credence enters the room.

Credence hovers hesitantly by the door, still unsure of where he stands with the President after his suspension, and the whole mess with the pastry suitcase. His more logical side can easily rationalise that, of course, the President does not have the time to pay attention to him in the middle of a Level 8 Security Alert, but there is a small voice on the back of his head pointing out he she has barely spoken, or looked, at him since he came back. Even now, as Credence stands in front of her ready to report on the Scamander interrogation, she keeps her eyes fixed on the document in front of her, not even sparing a polite glance in Credence’s direction to acknowledge his presence.

As much as he wants to ignore it, it is such a far cry from her usual warm and welcoming disposure that it sets Credence on edge.

“Well?” she prompts him after his continued silence “The interrogation, Mr. Barebone, how was it?”

“It was… informative” Credence says, for lack of a better word to describe the surreal experience he has just been through.

When questioned about the exact nature of the magical creatures stored in his suitcase, and the probability of one of them being the cause for the recent string of magical explosions around the city, Mr. Scamander had abandoned his shy, quirky and mostly silent façade and launched into a long, painstakingly detailed, and slightly condescending lecture about the characteristics of each and every one of the creatures in his care, and the cruelties they had all survived at the hands of unscrupulous wizards.

Tina had been making cow eyes at him all through the lecture, despite her having arrested the man herself only a few hours ago, because apparently she was now hot for teacher. Mr. Graves, who did not share his former subordinate’s teacher kink, oscillated between incredibly bored and slightly alarmed at Mr. Scamander’s descriptions, and by the end of the interrogation was eyeing the suitcase ass if it were a bomb about to go off. Credence himself was looking at the case with some trepidation, his mind boggling as he realised how many laws and international treaties Mr. Scamander had broken in order to put together his portable zoo.

“The no-maj has been released and obliviated” he continues “and Mr. Scamander and Miss Goldstein are being released as we speak. Since none of the creatures in the case matches what we know about the attacks, the case has been transferred to the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department, who will follow up with Mr. Scamander to arrange the necessary permits for his beasts”

“Is that so?” The President asks, finally raising her gaze to look at Credence, brows furrowed in annoyance “Graves let them go just like that? I thought he would take a harsher stance against such a blatant breach of regulations”

“He seemed to think neither Mr. Scamander, nor his creatures, posed any immediate threat” 

President Picquery hums in agreement, brow still furrowed in thought.

“And the Obscurus?” She asks.

“The Obscurus?” Credence dumbly repeats.

“Yes, I’ve heard reports that Mr. Scamander was keeping one such creature amongst his magical menagerie” President Picquery elaborates, her gaze now fixed on Credence, penetrating and unwavering “I’m no expert in Obscurus, of course, no one is on this day and age, but based on what little I know about them, I would imagine it would merit, at least, a mention on your report”

Credence takes a shaky breath, nervously wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, as he stares at President Picquery in trepidation. Oh, how he wishes she had not brought that fool creature up. The Obscurus in Mr. Scamander’s case, albeit completely inoffensive, is probably one of the most disturbing things Credence has ever seen. The dark tendrils of magic, swirling aimlessly in the containment bubble, twisted and alien, and eerily familiar at the same time.

_ That could have been me _ Credence had thought, staring at the dark mass in morbid fascination.

“The Obscurus is… inactive” he finally says, words coming out raspy and rough due to the sudden dryness of his mouth “It cannot survive without the host. It’s only being kept alive by Mr. Scamander’s stasis spell. It’s not a threat to anyone.”

“So it’s useless without its host” President Picquery sighs, leaning back into her chair and distractedly rubbing at her temple with the tips her fingers, as if the Obscurus’ lack of power was somehow distasteful. 

Credence feels the taste of bilis climb to the back of his throat, acrid and bitter.

“Useless?” he spits out “It’s a magical parasite that took a child’s life. How could you define it in terms of usability?”

President Picquery pauses, eyeing him from the corner of her eyes, her lips curling in distaste.

“It’s my duty, as President” she says, voice cold and unforgiving “to assess all risks and opportunities to MACUSA in order to identify how they may be better used to protect us”

Credence opens his mouth to protest, ready to argue that a dead Obscurus is no unexplored opportunity, but rather a disturbing reminder of the International Federation’s failures in protecting young magic users. However the President does not give him the opportunity to voice his opinions.

“Hiding the existence of such a powerful creature from your Commander in Chief, and dismissing its potential, skims dangerously close to treason Mr. Barebone. You would do well to remember that, with your record of disobedience and defiance of authority, any such action will be thoroughly examined”

“Treason? Are you mad?” Credence says before he can stop himself. He feels as if he has suddenly stepped in some kind of bizarre parallel reality. To have his loyalty questioned! Him, Credence Barebone, who has devoted his entire career to serving President Picquery and MACUSA to the very best of his abilities.

The President suddenly stands up, knocking her chair backwards with so much force it hovers dangerously for a moment on its back legs, almost toppling down to the floor. As she advances on Credence, dangerously imposing and powerful in her ceremonial headdress and golden brocade robes, he takes a halting step backwards at the same time that he reaches for his wand.

It is a purely instinctive move, driven by nothing but fear and nerves, and completely stupid. It is, Credence realises, as he watches President Picquery’s eyes widen in surprise at the raised wand pointed at her, the absolute worst thing he could have possibly done.

He does not get the chance to even begin to apologise before he is unceremoniously blasted across the room, his back slamming against the decorated oak doors with incredible force as his head bounces painfully against the intricate carvings, knocking him out cold.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're now into canon territory! (kind of, anyway)
> 
> This is the second movie re-write I've done (the first being in "The road to power is pave with hypocrisy"), and I gotta say, as fun as it is to re-imagine canon events with a few alterations, it's a complete pain in the ass to write them. I keep hesitating between skipping plot and hoping people can fill in the blanks based on movie knowledge and re-writing entire scenes because of one minimal detail change from canon.
> 
> As always, comments give me life and are much appreciated!


	4. Behind the mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It would have been better for you if you had stayed sleep” the voice patiently explains, and Credence can now see its owner, a small, matronly-looking witch, dressed in the white coat and dress of the Executions department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter! This was initially supposed to be the second half of chapter three, but as the word count got out of hand I decided to split them up. This covers "cannon" territory again, so apologies for rehashing the same old plot points, I did try and mix them up a little bit to keep things interesting ;)
> 
> Thanks everyone for your support and kind comments!

When he comes to, he is sitting on a chair, arms and legs bound with magic vines, and head lolling uncomfortably against his chest.

It takes him a few seconds to really awaken. The back of his head hurts something bad, a blinding, white pain that seems to pulse in sync with the beat of his heart. His mouth is dry, and he can feel a small trail of dried drool falling down the side of it, all the way to his chin. When he manages to open his eyes, blinking intermittently, he is almost blinded by the painfully bright whiteness of the room he is in.

At first, he does not recognise it. A hospital, is his first, naïve, thought. Only, hospitals do not usually leave their patients bound to a chair, hovering mid-air, in a white, sterile room, over a thick, writhing mass of silvery liquid. As realisation dawns, Credence has to swallow the urge to throw up. His situation is dire enough without adding the discomfort of getting vomit all down his front.

The Execution Room.

“Oh, you’re awake” says a voice to his left, sounding just a little inconvenienced.

Credence twists his head, doing his best to fight against the sudden nausea caused by the abrupt movement and the panic rapidly spreading through his body. His breath comes out in quick, shaky gasps, wet and broken.

“It would have been better for you if you had stayed sleep” the voice patiently explains, and Credence can now see its owner, a small, matronly-looking witch, dressed in the white coat and dress of the Executions department.

Credence just blinks stupidly back at her, his brain still struggling to understand the situation. How could he have gone from delivering a report to the President to sitting on the Execution Chair? It is as if he keeps adding two plus two and coming up with five hundred. He does not understand anything. As he recalls the conversation with the President in his head, it all feels off, twisted, like looking at it through a broken mirror, a distorted simile.

“The President…” he finally manages to say, the words heavy and slow in his tongue.

“Yes, the President” the witch says, tutting disapprovingly at him as she waves her hand in an admonishing notion “Who you tried to kill, you silly, silly, boy”

Credence stares at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds, blinking dazedly as he tries to make sense of the words. It is utter nonsense. He would rather throw himself off the highest floor in Woolworth building than harm a single hair on Seraphina Picquery’s head. His head hurts, as he struggles to rationalise what the Hell is happening, and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back into the chair, when his thoughts and the overwhelming whiteness of the room become too much.

“It will be over very soon” the witch says, misinterpreting his emotional distress for some kind of bizarre eagerness to join the Club of the Dead and Deceased.

He opens his eyes just as the witch carefully motions with her wand at the swirling mass beneath him. Faint images begin to appear on the silvery waters. His first Christmas at the Baileys, Mom’s arms reassuring and solid across his shoulders, Dad smiling across the room as he hands him his first gift. Miss Seraphina taking him away from Mary Lou, her elegant figure outlined in silver by the moonlight, her smile holding the promise of the future. Parties in the Wampus dormitories, full of laughter and thrown pillows. Queenie and Tina laughing, young and carefree, that summer he stayed with them and their parents. Mr. Graves fondly petting Phina’s head and feeding her sweets when he thinks no one is looking, smiling shyly when he spots Credence’s eyes on him.

With a herculean effort he tears his eyes away from the stolen memories and, clenching his teeth together and griping the arms of the chair until his fingers feel numb, he looks at his executioner head on, mindless of the hot tears streaming down his face. He refuses to be lulled to his death like a mindless lamb to slaughter. He is from the House of Wampus, and he will go down fighting.

His executioner merely smiles blandly back at him. Credence has not despised someone so much in his whole life.

The dark, silver mass is just starting to raise, thin tendrils drawing a long, elegant arch around the chair Credence is tied to, when the doors to the chamber burst open, smacking with a resounding crack against the white, plain walls. The witch does not even manage to fully turn around to face the intruder before perfectly aimed _Expelliarmus_ sends her wand flying and another spell makes her crumble to the ground like a broken doll, unconscious.

Mr. Graves sweeps into the room, his wand raised and pointed in an offensive position as if he were a gallant knight brandishing a sword. His ridiculous coat swirls around him like a cape, adding to the heroic effect, as does the loose strand of hair that has fallen, in a very flattering fashion, between his dark, incensed eyes. He looks completely over the top and unnecessarily dramatic.

Despite himself, Credence cannot stop himself from swooning. Just a little bit.

“Credence!” Mr. Graves shouts, swiftly casting a spell to remove his restraints and drawing the chair closer to the edge “Jump, I’ll catch you” he instructs, opening his arms wide.

If it were any other situation, Credence would have pointed out the futileness of having him jump over a pool of magic, murderous waters, when Mr. Graves could have simply disabled the spell altogether or levitated him to the platform. However, with the waves of silvery water raising dangerously close to his feet, he does not feel much inclined to highlight the ridiculousness of Mr. Graves’ rescue strategy.

There is also a tiny, foolish part of him that delights in the chance to be able to jump into Mr. Graves’ waiting arms, decorum and office rumors be damned.

That tiny part is not disappointed. Mr. Graves’ arms are as strong and solid as Credence ever dreamed, efficiently catching him mid-air and drawing him close against a wide, warm chest. As tensions slowly ebbs away, leaving him trembling and unbalanced, Credence allows himself a few moments of indulgence, leaning against Mr. Graves, forehead pressed against the man’ shoulder, smelling the distinct mix of cloudy cologne, sandalwood and musk that cling to the lapels of his coat. His heart beats wildly, almost painfully, against his ribcage, still fuelled by adrenaline and fear.

“You’re okay” Mr. Graves whispers, his breath hot and wet over Credence’s ear “I’ve got you”

Credence drags his forehead across Mr. Graves’ shoulder, feeling the velvety texture of his coat, until his nose touches the man’s neck. The skin there is hot, the veins underneath it pulsing rabid fast. For a brief moment, Credence considers dragging his nose up that neck, following it with his lips, to taste the salty sweat gathering like a thin layer over it, all the way up to that strong jaw and thin, well-defined lips.

Temptation is strong, but he reminds himself that there are more important things that require his immediate attention. Chief amongst them, the fact that the President of MACUSA seems to have completely taken leave of her senses.

“President Picquery” he says, pushing away from Mr. Graves’ secure embrace and looking him straight on the eyes instead “There’s something wrong with her. She- she…” words somehow elude him, his brain having still not managed to fully process his near-death experience and the cause for it.

“She tried to kill me…?” he finally whispers, almost to himself. It sounds even more surreal when spoken out loud.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the order in my desk” Mr. Graves says, looking almost as confused as Credence feels. It is somehow reassuring to know he is not the only one feeling lost in the midst of this recent madness.

“It said you attempted to kill her in her office, that she had to defend herself”

“I- no, I just startled” Credence protests “I remember raising my wand, in defence, before she blasted me across the room”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Graves asks, dark eyes gazing intently into his. Credence bristles at the unspoken accusation, but Mr. Graves hurries to add “Someone else could have used a spell on you to manipulate your actions, _Imperio_ , maybe, or some other Dark curse-“

“There was no spell” Credence says. As confusing as the events may have been, he does remember them with starling clarity, and is pretty confident he was in possession of his full mental abilities at all times “Not on me, anyways, someone must have gotten to the President, enchanted her somehow”

“Credence…” Mr. Graves starts, brows furrowed in scepticism. It is clear that, despite being willing to go against orders to save his life, Mr. Graves is not quite willing to believe him.

“I’m telling the truth” Credence angrily snaps “As I was telling it yesterday when Tina and I first brought Mr. Scamander in. You didn’t believe me then either”

Mr. Graves looks like he is about to protest the assessment, but Credence interrupts him before he can even begin.

“You make this whole show of courting me, a-and being extra nice to me, so much that the entire building is bursting with rumors about whether or not we’re fucking, and your own team uses me as some sort of human safety blanket, but yet you are unable to trust anything I say at face value?”

His cheeks burn from embarrassment and anger when he finishes, and he feels slightly out of breath, but it is worth it just to see the look of absolute stupefaction on Mr. Graves’ face. He looks as if someone had clobbered him on the head, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, as he stares at Credence completely dumbfounded.

“I…” Mr. Graves starts, before stopping himself, blinking rapidly as if to clear his head, and then promptly blushing a furious red from his neck to the top of his ears “I thought you hadn’t noticed” he murmurs, gaze sliding down to the floor in embarrassment.

The declaration makes Credence snort in amusement. It may have taken him a bit to catch on due to his own insecurities, but he doubts that there is a single person in MACUSA that is still unaware of the fact that Mr. Graves has a sweet spot for him.

“I thought it best not to say anything” Credence says, somehow managing not to let his own embarrassment at the fact show through “But that’s irrelevant now, crush or not, I need you to trust me when I say there’s something seriously wrong with the President”

“It’s not a -“ Mr. Graves starts to protest, before sighing, shaking his head, and correcting himself “Nevermind. Let’s say I trust you, I’ll still need some time to properly investigate if there’s anything fishy going on with Sera. In the meantime, you’ll need to stay hidden”

“Hide where?” Credence asks. His apartment only has basic warding, and it would be the first place anyone would look for him anyways, his parents’ house is better protected, but he has no intention of getting them involved in this mess, maybe Tina and Queenie-

“My house” Mr. Graves replies, cutting his frantic musings short, as he swiftly leads him out of the Execution Room and through the labyrinthine corridors of MACUSA’s lower levels “Its wards are strong enough to keep out Seraphina herself, and if we play it right no one should even have a reason for searching for you in there”

“Tina-“

“She’s out with Mr. Scamander, searching for the escaped creatures. I’ll send her a pigeon, warning them to lay low until we have more information. If what you say is true, and Seraphina is compromised, we can only assume Mr. Scamander’s beasts, particularly the Obscurus, may be her target”

“She did seem interested in it...” Credence mentions as he follows Mr. Graves into his office and watches warily as the other man locks the door “The  whole conversation got weird when I mentioned it”

Mr. Graves’ face darkens at that, but he offers no further commentary as he strides towards the fireplace at the back of the room and lights it with a quick snap of his fingers. He then quickly scoops a startled Phina up from her resting place across his desk and drops her on Credence’s arms, before taking a small jar from one of his drawers and offering it to him.

“Floo powder” he says at Credence’s questioning look “My fireplace is one of the few in the building connected to the Network. Address is 910 Fifth Avenue, Apartment 11A. Take Phina with you, I won’t be able to look after her”

“I don’t think-”

“There’s cat food in the kitchen. Top cabinet, third from the left. I’ll be back in the evening, once I straighten this whole mess out”

“Mr. Graves” Credence tries again, clutching Phina closer to his chest and ignoring how her tiny claws dig into his arms as she tenses up in response.

“I need to know you’ll be safe” Mr. Graves says, his eyes dark with emotion as he gazes deep into Credence’s own. His expression is open, pleading, and surprisingly honest, and with that rogue strand of hair still falling stubbornly between his eyes, he looks unfairingly handsome.

“I will” Credence agrees and, before he can return the sentiment, or raise any of his concerns, Mr. Graves is turning and striding away, coattails flaring in an elegant arch behind him, as he exits the room, leaving Credence alone, scared, and confused, clutching an overweight cat in his arms.

***

The wait is unbearable. Credence has been sitting tight in Mr. Graves’ apartment for the better part of the day now. He spends most of the time feeding Phina, for lack of anything better to do, and now, with the cat blissfully conked out from all the food, he finds himself anxiously staring at the fireplace, waiting for Mr. Graves to step through.

It is already pitch dark outside. He should be returning soon. Anytime now, Credence insistently tells himself.

Anxiety curls and twists viciously in his belly, making him jittery and unfocused. He hates it. Hates how his entire world seems to have been sliding and slipping on some kind of metaphorical shit slope ever since Tina’s ill fated decision to give Mary Lou Barebone her just desserts. Tina losing her job, his own forced leave of absence, President Picquery’s sudden change in demeanor, it all keeps piling up. Even his relationship (or lack thereof) with Mr. Graves has been affected, the innocent, playful flirting replaced by a hurt, tense distance that leaves Credence feeling on edge.

He is so upset he does not even have the energy to snoop around Mr. Graves’ apartment. Queenie will be so disappointed when she finds out.

He is so focused on the fireplace, so immersed in his own thoughts, that he does not notice anything at first. It is not until the windows start rattling violently, and Phina wakes up and jumps into his lap, hackles raised and hissing, that he realises something is seriously wrong.

He gathers Phina into his arms, cradling her against his chest and running a calming hand over her back, hoping to stop the insistent tremors that wreck her frame, and cautiously approaches the windows.

A cloud of darkness covers the sky. A wild, swirling mass of inky black tendrils, twisting through the air, over Central Park and between the top of the buildings at Midtown.

Even after seeing a much smaller version of the creature now hovering through the New York sky earlier on the day, Credence has trouble believing his eyes. It was one thing to accept something like this could happen in the wilderness of Africa, a much different one to see it happening here, in New York, right under the nose of MACUSA. Right under Credence’s nose.

An Obscurus.

He flinches as the creature smashes into a particularly tall building, turning the top two floors into rubble, before descending to the street and disappearing from his sight. Adrenaline running through his veins, Credence immediately snaps into action. He carefully deposits Phina on the sofa and, ignoring her pleading whines, slips on his coat and apparates away with a crack.

***

The Obscurus is too fast, and its movements too erratic, for Credence to catch up with it, but the path of destruction it leaves through Midtwon and the Village is easy enough to follow. Credence keeps to the shadows, out of the eyes of the scared and shocked no-majs that hesitantly poke their heads out of their windows to stare in fear at the wreckage left on the streets.

The trail of ruined buildings and crashed cars leads him all the way to City Hall, where an Auror squad is already throwing up a magical barrier around the station’s entrance to the astonishment and disbelief of the rather large group of no-majs congregated there.

Credence forcefully pushes his way through the multitude until he is standing at the edge of the barrier. It shimmers a pale gold, but transparent enough that it is easy to see the Aurors running around just behind it.

“Barebone!” He hears a familiar voice shout to his right.

He turns his head to see Auror Schiavone, holding a portion of the descending barrier still with his wand, quickly motion for him to approach with his free hand. He hurries over and swiftly ducks inside the barrier, only realising after he has done so that, technically, he is still a fugitive from the law and getting himself trapped into a metro station full of Aurors may not be the wisest option.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Schiavone asks him as soon as his portion of the barrier has been properly sealed “Nevermind” he quickly adds, before Credence has any chance to answer his question “I know better than to let you try your luck amongst a mob of angry, scared no-majs. Graves would have my hide”

“The Obscurus…” Credence hesitantly starts, hoping to get a bit more clarity on the ongoing situation.

“Yes, yes, dreadful thing” Schiavone says, grabbing hold of Credence upper arm and subtly, but insistently pushing him towards the station’s entrance “The whole department is down there to face it. Graves himself stormed by not five minutes ago, which is why you’ll stay close to me, out in the back where you’re less likely to get hurt, so I don’t get in trouble with the boss for putting you in danger”

“I can defend myself” Credence declares. He does not need to be mollycoddled like an inexperienced child.

“Didn’t mean to imply otherwise” Schiavone lightly replies, keeping his hold on Credence firm and unyielding “But the Obscurus has already destroyed half the city, and the no-majs outside the barrier looks about ready to start a second Salem. You are not a trained Auror and should, technically, be under arrest, so please don’t make things harder than they need to be”

Grudgingly, Credence lets himself be led down the stairs, keeping his head down in a halfhearted effort not to get noticed by any of the Aurors rushing by. Thankfully for him the Aurors seem more preoccupied with the rampaging creature currently hunkered down on the station than looking out for any foolish profugues.

They make their way across one of the platforms, and then down in the tracks and through a dark tunnel, before they finally arrive at the platform where the Obscurus is.

It is even more terrifying up close, is Credence’s first thought, as he gazes up at the creature on top of the platform, not even noticing Schiavone’s grip on him slackening as the Auror also stares in shock at the monstrosity before them.

President Picquery is also on the platform, standing between the Obscurus and the Aurors led by Mr. Graves, her wand raised in a clear warning towards them.

“Anyone who fires on it will have to answer to me!” she shouts, her voice resonating loudly within the room, over the screeches of the creature and the fearful whispers of the Aurors.

“Hold fire!” Mr. Graves shouts, from the front of the Auror squad. Credence can barely see the back of his head from his position, but his words carry enough authority that all Aurors visibly lower their wands, even as they remain tense and ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

He uses the opportunity to squeeze his way through, elbowing his way between the rows of tense, confused Aurors, and ignoring Schiavone’s protests as he is dragged behind him. As he approaches the first rows, he spots two more figures, further along the tracks, that he had not seen before. It does not take him long to recognise one of them as Tina. She’s standing close to the edge of the platform, her wand lowered and one hand raised in a pacifying motion as she addresses the horrifying black terror on the platform.

He makes an attempt to go to her, but is sharply pulled back by Schiavone before he can even finish taking the first step.

“Are you nuts?” Schiavone hisses in his ear, his grip tightening almost painfully on Credence’s arm “Do you have a deathwish?”

“Tina’s my friend” Credence protests, as he tries to yank his arm free “I won’t let her face this- this, thing, this Obscurus all by herself”

Schiavone jabs a warning finger under Credence nose and opens his mouth, ready to protest, when his eyes suddenly widden in abject terror and all color drains from his face.

“Director Graves, Sir, I just found him outside-” Schiavone stammers out as Credence turns to face Mr. Graves himself, whose attention has now been seemingly diverted from the major magical crisis happening not ten feet away, to stare at Credence in exasperated disbelief.

“I told you to stay home!” He hisses.

“You cannot seriously expect me to sit around your ridiculously large apartment drinking tea and eating pastries while a magical monster tears apart the city” Credence swiftly replies. He can hear Schiavone choke on air behind him as he mentions Mr. Graves’ apartment. If they manage to survive this, there is going to be no stopping the gossip.

“I expect you to stay safe” Mr. Graves protests, brows furrowing in annoyance “I need to know-”

He does not get to finish his sentence, as an agonised wail pierces the air.

In front of them the Obscurus contorts into itselfs, black tendrils of magical matter spinning around like whips, and bursts of smoke exploding into place, until it coalesces into a small, tiny figure. A girl, no older than ten, with limp, blonde hair and pale, pasty skin, who sways in place for a second, before crumpling to the ground with an almost soundless thud.

Everything is silent for a moment, no one moves, no one talks. They all wait with bated breath, wands held tightly in their hands, for the Obscurus to resurface again, for the dreaded black smoke to rise from the prone body of the little girl now lying unconscious upon the platform.

Tina is the first to move, clumsily making her way towards the platform, her feet slipping on the rocky, uneven surface of the tracks.

She does not make it to her destination.

Without any warning, and for no apparent reason that Credence can gather, President Picquery throws a hex at Tina that blasts her all the way across the room, smashing her into the wall.

Everything happens very fast after that.

Credence starts running towards Tina, shouting her name, as the other person on the tracks, who he briefly recognises as Mr. Scamander, illegal beast smuggler extraordinaire, does the same. A curse swishes just past his head, as President Picquery attempts to stop him but, before he can even think of returning fire, he hears Mr. Graves shout at her to stop, at the same time he fires a curse of his own.

Trying to rationalise why his beloved President has suddenly undergone a one eighty personality turn, and is attempting to kill him, is too much for Credence to parse through at the moment. Why, with the recent threat of a seemingly unstoppable smoke creature, and the chaotic magic duel now taking place across the platform between the President and Mr. Graves, Credence finds it easier to just focus his attention on Tina.

She is unconscious, and after a bit of prodding Credence can feel what will surely be the start of a massive bruise on the back of her head, guaranteed to cause migraines and discomfort for the next few weeks. Her breathing is even, though, and she appears to be otherwise unharmed, which allows the knot in Credence’s stomach to slightly untwist itself.

“ _Rennervate”_ He quietly whispers, the tip of his wand pointed just above Tina’s heart.

To his great relief, the effect is immediate. Tina’s eyes fly open, her chest expands as she draws in a large breath, and her hands scramble for purchase on Credence’s coat as she comes to her senses.

“Credence!” Tina exclaims, once her eyes finally manage to focus “What are you- The Obscurus-”

“Is down. Asleep” Credence quickly reassures her “For now, at least. Merlin knows what will happen when that little small girl wakes up” _If she ever wakes up,_ he mentally adds in his head.

“That’s… Good. That’s good” Tina mumbles, as she tries to lever herself up. Credence rushes to aid her, grabbing her arm so she can sit up without wavering “And, what about the President…?” she drifts off as she looks at the commotion still going on behind Credence.

He turns his head to follow her gaze, just in time to see Mr. Scamander fish a small, dark ball out of his coat and fling it at the President. The dark ball seems to expand on impact, wrapping around the President’s torso, and effectively tying her arms to her sides, as she is forced down to her knees at the sudden shift in balance.

A hush falls immediately over the room, as Mr. Scamander hoists himself up upon the platform and advances towards the struggling form of President Picquery, expression guarded and wand at the ready. Across the room, Mr. Graves still has his guard up, looking between President Picquery and Credence, as if he cannot quite make up his mind on which of them he should focus on. Duty seems to win out in the end, as he sharply gestures for a couple of his Aurors to follow him as he climbs up unto the platform.

“Release me Graves!” President Picquery shouts from her place on the floor, as she viciously struggles with whatever it is that is keeping her trapped “That’s an order!” Her face is twisted in a mask of rage and viciousness, completely unlike her usually collected and calm demeanour. Her headdress is crooked, a few tendrils of white hair escaping through the bottom.

Mr. Graves looks at her impassively, wand steadily pointed in her direction and brows furrowed in a severe line over dark eyes. Credence can see a muscle in his jaw tick even from a distance.

“ _Revellio”_ Mr. Scamander says, softly, waving his wand in an almost theatrical arch over the President.

Only it is not really the President. As the spell takes effect, and the illusion fades away, her shoulders widen, straining under her fitted jacket, her skin lightens, going from a soft, golden brown, to a sickly white, and her features harden, jaw and nose sharpening, until they settle into a terrifyingly familiar visage.

“Grindelwald” Tina whispers next to him, shock and surprise clear in her voice.

More whispers follow, as the assembled Aurors start muttering amongst themselves, quite visibly nervous and unsure at the unexpected turn of events. Mr. Scamander, still standing next to the newly revealed wizard, seems equally shock by his own discovery, but has enough sense to keep his wand pointed at Grindelwald’s head, even if his grip is perhaps a bit unsteady.

Grindelwald himself does not seem too nervous. He has stopped struggling, sitting back on his feet, as he regards the Aurors assembled before him with a barely disguised smirk. There is something about his apparent nonchalance, his smugness, that sets Credence’s teeth on edge, and that, coupled with the realisation that he has been impersonating President Picquery for Merlin knows how long, makes a hot wave of pure, burning hatred curse through his body.

How dare he take Picquery’s place? He, who is not even worthy of licking the heels of her boots. How dare he twist, and almost destroy, Credence’s valued relationship with his dear Mentor? Horror mixes with anger, and relief, as the events of the past few weeks are suddenly put in a scary new perspective.

“Do you think you’ll be able to hold me, Mr. Graves?” Grindelwald says, with a tilting snide tone to his voice that Credence immediately despises.

“We’ll do our best,” replies Mr. Graves, somehow still maintaining his cool, collected façade, despite the shocking reveal.

“Madame Grindelwald” he adds, after a short pause, bowing deep at his waist with an exaggerated flourish, and causing his Aurors to snicker loudly in the background like the troupe of immature teenagers that they truly are. Even Tina lets out an awkward snort behind his back, causing Credence to roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

Admittedly, the sight of Grindelwald dressed up in President Picquery’s elegant, decidedly feminine, robes is quite amusing. Credence feels a small smile tug at the end of his own lips, until he remembers that the fact that Grindelwald is wearing the President’s clothes is because he took her place, meaning the actual President Picquery is currently Merlin knows where, while an Obscurial takes a nap not five feet away from them, and a mob of no-majs gathers outside the station ready to hang them all.

“We have no time for that!” he says, jumping to his feet and making his way towards the platform, where Mr. Graves is currently standing, smirking like a tool, and looking entirely too pleased about his silly little joke, while Grindelwald attempts to _Avada Kedavra_ him with the power of his glare alone.

“Where’s the President?” Credence asks, once he manages to hoist himself upon the platform and faces Grindelwald “Where did you hid her?”

A cruel smile spreads across Grindelwald’s lips, as his eyes alight with the savage glee of a predator at the sight of his prey “Wouldn’t you like to know…” he sing songs.

“Tell me!” Credence demands, digging the tip his wand into Grindelwald’s throat.

The wand lets out a small flutter of angry sparks, causing Grindelwald to hiss angrily back at him. “Careful with that, boy, or dear Seraphina may not live to see another day”

An angry, red, fog clouds Credence’s vision at hearing this words, and a curse springs to his lips, but before he can even form the words, he is being roughly pulled back by his shoulder as Mr. Graves swipes in and smashes his first into Grindelwald’s face. Unable to steady himself, due to the strange creature still wrapped around him, Grindelwald falls back, his head smacking loudly against the platform’s tiled floor.

“Someone come and secure that bastard!” Mr. Graves shouts at his Aurors, as he steadies himself and rubs at the knuckles of his right hand “And get him a muzzle while you’re at it,” he adds “to keep the bullshit from spewing out of his mouth.”

“But, Mr. Graves, the President-” Credence starts, at the same time that Mr. Scamander buts in with “Excuse me, Director Graves, but the Obscurial-”

They both stop, and stare at each other in confusion, while Mr. Graves lets out a weary sigh.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, gentlemen” he says.

***

It takes some discussion, but in the end, Credence is dispatched with a small squad of Aurors to President Picquery’s house to try and get some clue as to her whereabouts, as well as more information in to how exactly Grindelwald managed to impersonate her, and for how long.

Tina, Queenie, and a short, kind-but-confused looking man, who Credence strongly suspects may be a no-maj, are tasked with taking the young Obscurial girl (“Modesty” Tina whispers, swiping a strand of blonde hair from her forehead) into Williamson’s hospital. They are escorted by a couple of Aurors as well, although Credence is not entirely sure if their purpose is to protect the Obscurial, protect people _from_ the Obscurial, or just arrest the probably-a-no-maj man once the Obscurial has been properly contained.

Finally, Mr. Scamander pulls yet another incredibly illegal creature out of his national security hazard of a suitcase to help deal with the no-majs congregated outside. It says something to how tired and done with everything Mr. Graves must be, that he simply takes a long, resigned look at the majestic thunderbird hovering over the platform, lets out a weary, soul-deep sigh, and quietly agrees for Mr. Scamander to proceed with his mass-obliviation plan.

***

The search of the Presidential Penthouse proves to be a frustrating exercise in futility, thankfully it is not long before a _Patronus_ messenger shows up to inform Credence and the team that the President has been located and is alive. Grindelwald had apparently been keeping her in a magical suitcase within her own office, close enough at hand that he could grill her for information on the inner workings of MACUSA whenever the need arose.

She is mostly unharmed, Gonzales tells Credence when he meets her in Williamson’s Hospital waiting room. She is a  bit malnourished, a common side effect of long term stasis spells, and it will take some time for her to regain her strength, as her muscles recover after weeks of paralysis and disuse, but the Healers do not expect there to be any lasting damage.

“She’ll be alright” Gonzales tells him, affectionately rubbing his arm “The best we can do now is keep things running as smoothly as we can until she is able to come back”

Credence nods, slowly slouching back into the uncomfortable wooden chair, as all the accumulated tension of the day suddenly ebbs away, leaving him boneless and almost too exhausted to move.

“She’ll be alright” he repeats, voice a mere whisper.

“Yes, she will” Gonzales agrees, smiling softly “Now, you better get yourself some proper rest, dear. You certainly deserve it after everything you’ve just been through, and we’ll need you to be alert and rested tomorrow. This whole mess is going to be a nightmare to handle”

“Ugh” Credence groans, slouching down even further. He can just see the piles of paperwork already piling up on his desk, hear the loud, angry questions from the reporters.

Mustering up the his last reserves of energy, he pulls himself from the chair, bids Gonzales goodbye, and apparates himself straight to his apartment, with every intention of collapsing face first into his bed.

***

“Oh, good, you’re finally here” Queenie welcomes him the moment he steps through the door.

Credence blinks at her, one hand still on the door handle.

“We were so worried” Queenie continues, standing up from the tiny armchair she had been sitting on, and approaching him.

“I don’t- what…?” Credence mumbles in stunted surprise, as Queenie deftly pushes him inside the room, closes the door behind him, and takes off his jacket.

His apartment is unexpectedly busy.

Tina is also there, looking as tired as he feels, as are Mr. Scamander and the probably-a-no-maj man that had been with them on the platform.

“Hello, Credence” Tina says, with a soft smile. Next to her, Mr. Scamander and the no-maj wave awkwardly, one avoiding his gaze and the other looking decidedly confused.

“I- Hello, Tina” he replies “What-? Who-?”

“We were wondering if you wouldn't mind letting Newt and Jacob stay with you for the night” Queenie announces as she sweeps past him, his jacket folded over her arm “It’s too late to book an hotel, and you know how Mrs. Esposito gets about us having male guests in the apartment”

“Newt and Jacob?” Credence dumbly asks, because it’s fuck o’clock in the night and, after such a very long, stressful day, his mental faculties are not quite there.

“Jacob Kowalski” probably-a-no-maj guy says, his face breaking into an open, warm smile, as he extends his hand to Credence “Pleased, to meet you”

“...Likewise?” Credence replies, hesitantly accepting the offered hand while he glances at Queenie in confusion. Mr. Kowalski has a strong grip, energetic, without being overwhelming. Credence offers a small smile back, and watches as Queenie beams at him from across the room.

“I’m Newt” Mr. Scamander says, looking at some point behind Credence ear. Tina elbows him in the ribs “Nice to meet you, again. I guess” he adds.

“I’m… Yeah, sure” Credence says. He turns to Queenie, who smiles at him expectantly “I have no problem with them staying for the night, but you know I only have one bed, I guess if they don’t mind the sofa, or we could transfigure-”

“We’ll sleep in my suitcase” Mr. Scamander says.

“...In your suitcase”

“It’s magical!” Mr. Kowalski exclaims, waving his arms excitedly. Credence wonders how he can maintain such levels of energy and enthusiasm at this hour “You can actually go _inside_ , and there’s like, a whole world in there, with a forest, and-”

“Extension charm” Mr. Scamander interrupts “Quite practical for travelling”

“Of course” Credence agrees. _Quite practical for smuggling illegal creatures_ he does not say. He is too tired to care about such things and, besides, Mr. Graves himself released Mr. Scamander and his creatures from custody a few hours ago.

“It’s amazing” Mr. Kowalski, who is most definitely a no-maj, says.

“I’m sure” Credence says. He can turn a blind eye, at least for tonight. There will be plenty of time to question Tina and Queenie on how exactly they ended up adopting a random no-maj guy tomorrow. For now, Credence just wants to sleep.

“Bathroom is the second door to the right, my bedroom is the one at the end of the hall" He says “Please, feel at home”

“Thank you, Credence” Queenie says, standing up on tiptoes to quickly kiss him on the cheek.

Credence just nods in response, muttering his goodbyes as he heads off to his room and proceeds to faceplant into his bed. He is out before his head even hits the pillow.

***

The aftermath of the Obscurus incident and Grindelwald’s capture is as much of a nightmare as Gonzales predicted, and way worse that Credence could have imagined. He spends the next week buried in paperwork, press announcements and international negotiations, as different ambassadors take turns storming into the Presidential offices to demand custody of Grindelwald be transferred to their country.

It is stressful and exhausting, but it helps keep Credence busy, and it gives him purpose, a welcome change form the depressingly boring week he spent on disciplinary leave. It also prevents him from thinking too much about the no-maj he is currently fostering in his flat.

He understands, after hearing Tina and Queenie’s explanations, why they became attached to Mr. Kowalski, and were reluctant to let him be obliviated. He can easily see how attached Queenie in particular is to the man, how her smile brightens just a bit more every time they are together in a room. And Mr. Kowalski is a perfectly swell guy, very polite, very charming. A most gracious house guest (unlike Mr. Scamander, who skulks around like a feral racoon, bolting at the minimal threat of social interaction).

Credence gets why they want to keep the guys around. He is just not so sure on how they plan to make the whole arrangement work in the long term without getting themselves arrested.

However, it is not his problem to solve, so for the time being, he keeps his mouth shut and his apartment door open.

***

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” President Picquery says as soon as Credence enters the room.

She is still in bed. Propped up with multiple pillows, wearing an elegant, velvety robe and a simply tied headscarf. The bed itself is covered in files and rolls of parchment, some of which has even migrated to the floor or the bedside table. Credence was under the impression that the Healers had forbidden her from working for at least another week, at least that is what Gonzales told him when he came back to the office.

“Madam President” He says, politely bowing his head and making his way to her side. He has to pick up a few files up from the chair before he is able to sit down.

“I wasn’t aware you were already working” he says, trying to sound as casual and non-judgemental as possible, but unable to keep the concern from his voice.

“Working keeps me sane” President Picquery says, waving her hand in a dismissal motion “Can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs and looking at the wall all day long, I would go insane”

“Yeah, I can relate to that” Credence says, flashing back to his own week of inactivity and remembering the frustration of it all.

“Of course you do” President Picquery says, smiling at him “So, what brings you down to visit?”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Credence shuffles in place where he sits.

“I wanted to apologise” he murmurs, his words low and mumbled even to his own ears.

“Apologise?” President Picquery says, voice laden with disbelief “Whatever for?”

“I was rude, and unprofessional” Credence answers “After Tina’s demotion. I was so angry at Mr. Graves, and at, uh, at yourself, and I let that anger influence my actions. I behaved like an ass for weeks to Mr. Graves because he fired Tina, and I kept challenging him on the Second Salemers case, and-”

“Are you sure I’m the one you want to apologise to?” President Picquery softly interrupts him.

When Credence glances up from his lap, he can see her looking at him, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips and a knowing, understanding look on her eyes. He blushes.

“I- uh, I mean, you did tell me not to let my feelings get in the way of my career…”

She snorts in response.

“You _did_ suspend me for it” he reminds her.

“I most certainly did not” President Picquery replies, a shadow of regret passing across her face before she continues “I’m afraid that was all Grindelwald. I would have never suspended you for something as stupid as challenging Graves on a case”

“I may have done more than just challenge him…”

“I’m sure whatever it was, it was well deserved” President Picquery dismisses him with a smile “Graves needs someone to take him down a peg or two from time to time. And sweet Merlin knows his Aurors are not going to be the ones to do it, too scared or too awed of him for the most part, the spineless bastards”

A small smile finally sneaks its way to Credence’s lips, as a weight is lifted of his chest. The disconnect and confusion he had felt over the last few weeks vanishes without a trace, and he lets himself bask in President Picquery’s praise. It feels familiar, and comforting, like a well worn jumper that you slip on after a wearing an ill-fitted suit.

“I’m not sure Mr. Graves will share your opinion” he says, trying his best to keep the worry off his voice. That is one conversation he is definitely not looking forward to.

“Oh, he never does, contrary man that he is. But you probably be able to ask him yourself, he is due for a visit in a few minutes” she says, taking a quick look at her wristwatch “We still need to figure out what to do with that poor Obscurial girl, and he probably has some more documents for me to sign”

Well, that answers the question as to whom exactly had been smuggling President Picquery all those files against Healers’ express orders.

“I should go then” Credence says, standing up in a rush and almost dropping his jacket to the floor in his haste “I- You have very important things to discuss, I’d just be a bother-”

“Hardly. I dare say your presence would make this visit infinitely more amusing” President Picquery protests, not bothering to hid her amused smirk form him “Percy gets so flustered when you’re around, it’s very entertaining”

“I really don’t think-”

Credence takes a few halting backward steps, his jacket held crumpled between his arms, before he hears the sound of the door opening, and a familiar deep voice grumble out a tired “Afternoon, Sera”

He freezes.

In front of him, President Picquery smiles like a kid on Christmas day, a glimmer of mischief shining in her eyes, as she looks behind his shoulder and positively _purrs_ “Good Afternoon, Percy. Look who’s come to visit me Today”

Credence does not move. He does not turn, does not look away from the President’s entirely too amused face, he keeps completely still, like a wild animal who just caught sight of a potential predator, fearfully waiting for the first sign to bolt.

“Mr. Barebone?”

Mr. Graves’ voice sounds uncharacteristically soft, its tone hesitant and uncertain in a way its owner is usually not. Credence does not have the strength of will to resist that pleading tone. He turns, twisting his torso around, movements mechanical and stilted, until he is facing the other man.

“Mr. Graves” he says, his voice coming out surprisingly even despite the nerves twisting in his stomach.

Mr. Graves says nothing in reply. Simply stares at Credence in stunted silence, eyes roaming his figure from head to toe, and back again. He darts his tongue out to lick quickly at his lips a few times, as he opens and closes his mouth while failing to produce any coherent sounds. It is, overall, a rather awkward standoff, and Credence can feel the President’s glee all the way from across the room.

“I was just leaving” Credence watches as Mr. Graves’ face crumbles at the words, eyebrows drawing upwards towards the centre of his forehead in clear distress “President Picquery told me you have important updates on the Obscurial, so I better go and leave you to it” he says, feeling very proud at how articulated he manages to come off.

“The Obscurial, yes. Modesty Barebone” Mr. Graves says, sounding slightly startled, as if suddenly remembering the whole goal of his visit “yes, dreadful thing that”

“Indeed” Credence readily agrees “So, I’m just gonna leave-”

“I adopted her” Mr. Graves interrupts him, gaze flitting nervously between Credence and President Picquery “The girl. I adopted her”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally at the end of cannon! I do have to apologise in advance because I haven't started writing next chapter yet, so it will probably be a while before I update. I do have the outline for it, and a couple scenes half-defined in my head, so don't worry, it's gonna happen. Hopefully my holiday in two weeks will give me a bit more writing time (and inspiration!)
> 
> As always, kudos are much appreciated, and comments make my day.


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